The Rouge Brothers
by tripplehorn
Summary: "It was being a cop that made you realise, more sharply and with more clarity than you could imagine, that the world was random and cruel, and nothing will ever make sense like it should." The Rouge Brothers are a ruthless drug ring suspected of a double homicide, but Andy's instincts tell her differently. These deaths consume her, the killer stalks; can she escape the darkness?
1. The Woman on Key Street

A/N Welcome one and all! I thought it was about time I had a go at writing some Rookie Blue Fiction. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

A heavy pressure thudded through Andy's head. Everything was black, like she was standing in a room with no light, but she could recognise the dullness of coming into consciousness. Light began to reveal itself, images and shapes came into sharp focus. Andy moved, but was restricted. She'd never felt this lethargic waking up from sleep, even with a hangover. She'd never felt so claustrophobic. She tried moving again, isolating the discomfort she felt, to her wrists. Wriggling them again, she registered them as being bound with a cold, pinching hardness that felt like hand cuffs. Focussing on what she saw before her, she looked around. Her neck was stiff and her back sore. She was sitting on a wooden chair, her feet bound with duct tape to each splintering leg.

Panic was flooding through her as the haziness of sleep faded away. She wished she could go back under that warm pocket of unawareness. She blinked hard, trying to make out the details of the room she was in. Dark and dank; the air was moist and smelled of mould. A dull light outlined what appeared to be a door in front of her. She slowly turned her head side to side and saw nothing but aluminium shelves pushed against both walls, a lump of plastic occupying the lowest shelf to her left side. The room couldn't have been more than eight feet long, by about 6 feet wide. Leaning forward slightly, Andy realised the light was only coming in because the door was cracked open. No way to know what time it was, or for how long she'd been here.

This had to be something to do with a case, she reasoned, trying to grasp onto some stability of thought. Logic seemed to comfort her at that moment. Sifting through her patchy memory, Andy tried to deduce the last thing she remembered. But it wasn't enough. Trying to remember left her with a sensation of swimming through thick, murky water; there was nothing to focus on, nothing to pinpoint.

She realised she wasn't in uniform. Her clothes were somewhat casual, but not what she usually bummed around the house in after work; an emerald green blouse, with a fitted black jacket, and her most expensive pair of jeans. The ones she bought with Traci the weekend they spent comfort-shopping on Queens Street after Traci's ex, Dex, found out about her indiscretions with Detective Barber.

She thought of Traci, and the possibility that she'd been out with her…

_What was I doing?_ She clenched her fists, willing the memories to erupt from her subconscious.

She must not have been at work. Either she'd been off shift, was on her way to work, or on her way home from work.

Two of those scenarios could mean that nobody was looking for her.

Nobody knew she was even gone.

* * *

Two Weeks Earlier

Andy rummaged through a dusty box of files, flipping through the faded yellow folders inside with her thumb. Her legs were beginning to cramp as she crouched in the silent office space, searching for evidence.

Gail was on the other side of the room, sitting in one of the swivel chairs with her feet propped up on the oak desk in front of her, reading through more old files. She looked too relaxed in this environment, executing a search on a suspicious dwelling.

Gail always looked so indifferent about things, sounded bored and careless. But Andy had known her long enough to understand the meticulousness Gail put into her stand-offish attitude, along with her acidic quips. Sometimes Andy envied her, other times she wondered how hard it must be not to so much emotion at all.

"I don't hear any _flipping_," Gail sung, noticing the sudden quiet from Andy's direction.

"I thought we weren't rookies anymore." Andy said, ignoring Gail's comment. "Why do they still send us on these meaningless errands?"

Gail dropped her stack of files on the table, a cloud of dust rising into the air from the impact.

"Well, the only new rook is Nick, and according to Frank, he has as much experience as we do, so we'll be stuck with this crap until a new wave of newbies float through the door to suck _our_ asses for once." She dropped her feet from the desk and onto the floor with a loud thump.

Andy sighed, her eyes going watery from all the dirt and debris floating through the air. The room was dark and musty, possessing an unused feeling, like it had been forgotten and neglected for years.

"So you and Nick—"Andy began.

"Over my dead body, McNally." Gail retorted immediately.

Andy dropped the lid back onto the box she was sorting through and looked over her shoulder.

"What? I was just curious; you guys seem to have a history."

"Yeah, well, you wanna talk about Swarek if we're in that department?" she raised an eyebrow in challenge and Andy frowned.

"Nothing is going on. He's a T.O." and as she said the words, they felt like lies.

Gail knew it, too.

"Sure." She laughed. "Like that's ever stopped anybody before."

Andy still shook her head in denial as Gail yawned and stretched like a pale blonde, lip-sticked feline.

Their radios buzzed with voices, echoing in the wide room. It felt like a basement to Andy.

"I don't know about you but this place is kinda screaming 'silence of the lambs', so if you don't mind I'd like to get outta here." Gail said, echoing Andy's thoughts.

The office was inside a large warehouse. Abandoned almost a decade ago, the place used to be a slaughter house. Some of the old meat hooks still hung from the ceiling like macabre chandeliers. Normally the building was occupied by squatters, homeless people desperate enough to brave the winter chilled metal fixtures and the icy cement floor just to have a roof over their heads. Otherwise, it was used to facilitate other activities.

Andy sighed, disappointed with their findings. She'd wanted to find something to do today, some big case to crack. They'd been sent there to search through papers and anything with writing on it to link it back to a ten year old case on a drug trafficking ring. The ring consisted of three main men; Howard Gordon, Ripley Fields, and Phillip Couperet. They were otherwise known as, The Rouge Brothers. Ironic, given that none of them were related.

They only knew about this place because of an informant. They'd provided the police with a list of people and places the group had anything to do with. If they accidentally bumped into a person on the street, that person's name was on the list. This place was at the bottom of that list.

Andy thought finding any solid evidence was beyond searching one of the old "outlets" for the shady business. It was highly unlikely they'd kept any kind of legitimate records outside the cover business they ran the drugs through. All the files they looked at now, were invoices left over from the meat processing business.

Gail must have noticed Andy's frustration.

"Face it, we'll probably always be rookies until the T.O.'s all retire, or drop from their perches."

This forced a smile out of Andy as she shook her head, running her hand over her head and tugging on her ponytail.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I think they're always gonna be there."

The snow was thick and powdery on the ground, stained black and brown on the roads, compacted into a hard shiny surface by car tyres. Toronto was facing some pretty unpleasant arctic winds, making the snow and slush just that much worse.

Andy favoured warmer weather, feeling she belonged in California or something, but then she thought back to the summers she spent in Ohio with her parents before her mother left, and remembered how she'd missed the brisk weather of the north.

Although Andy's gradual loathing of those Summers could be attributed to the bitter taste the memories left in her mouth after her mother's abandonment. Sometimes she was terrified of leaving the city, scared that she might feel reminiscent of those days and what she had lost.

Andy caught herself sulking and straightened up in her car seat, turning the heat down and planting her eyes on the road.

The radio crackled-

_We've got a 35 year old woman standing on the side of Key Street, she's hysterical, couldn't understand her when she called in, assumed to be mentally ill._

There was a pause.

_Unit twenty-three, fifteen, are you available to respond?_

Andy picked up the radio and replied.

_Twenty-Three Fifteen, Ten-Four._

Andy shoved the radio back into its holder as Gail made a U-turn, heading back towards Key Street.

The trees lining the road had no leaves, everything was skeletal and bare. So when a woman, the one that had reported the body, Andy assumed, jumped out onto the road with a screech, it made the atmosphere all the more creepy.

Gail swore and slammed on the brakes, their bodies leaning forward with the inertia. Andy flew out of the car as the woman started to walk back in the direction she came.

"Ma'am!" she yelled. "Ma'am, we're the police, we just want to talk to you."

The woman had disappeared down the embankment on the shoulder of the road. Covered with dense shrubbery, Andy grunted in distaste and followed the woman, begging the mercy of the Gods that it wasn't just a hoax.

The shrubbery thinned out slightly much to Andy's welcome. She heard Gail coming in from the back, yelling out to the woman, except in a slightly more Gail-ish fashion.

"Lady, get your ass out here before we arrest you."

Andy pushed an icy branch out of her way and was visited with a small clearing. The wind was blisteringly cold and the rain had pooled with the snow in the ditch, making soupy ice puddles that Andy sank into up to the top of her boots.

The woman appeared then, standing stock still by an oak tree only ten feet away. Andy brushed the debris off herself and trudged forward.

"Are you okay, ma'am? Do you need medical attention?"

The woman turned to face her, eyes bright and bloodshot from crying. She shook her head. She looked to be in her fifties, but dressed in work-out gear, a fluorescent pink sweat band around her head. She didn't look dressed to be the crazy kind that calls the cops for no reason.

She was staring at something partially obscured by mud, and dead leaves.

A body.

* * *

The road had to be blocked off, one lane of traffic left open which Chris and Traci were left assigned to take care of.

A forensic tech trailed yellow tape between short plastic poles placed along the road, and towards the ditch.

Andy watched as he wound it around a tree branch, and continued down the slope towards the crime scene.

Sam came into view before her then, a keen interest in his eyes: a concern. He didn't voice it.

"What did the woman say when you found her?"

Andy crossed her arms and leaned back against her cruiser.

"Nothing," she shrugged, glad she could what happened to Sam. It gave her more confidence. "She just made noises—"

"What kind of noises?" he pressed gently, inclining his head toward her.

She shrugged again.

"Just…scared noises, I guess. She jumped in the middle of the road and then took off down there," she pointed towards the trail of officers making their way through the shrubs.

"What was she doing there anyway? Isn't it a little off the beaten track?" Sam asked, eyebrows rising.

Andy shook her head and looked over at the woman, sitting in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over her mouth.

"She said she was going for a jog. There's a track just a few feet off of where we found the body. Says she got a little lost." Andy explained.

Sam hummed, not in acceptance, but in suspicion. Andy had to voice her doubts.

"I don't think she's involved."

Sam raised his brow in question, a small smile quirking his lips.

"Look," she chuckled, knowing he was about to tease her about finally listening to her instincts like he'd taught her. "I know her type. She's not gonna go off and dump a body, especially that big of a one, and then call the cops while she's in running gear. It doesn't work like that."

Sam inclined his head from side to side, weighing her opinion.

"What do you mean you know her type?"

Andy pulled the empty liquor flask from her jacket and handed it to her training officer.

"She was two weeks off the bottle," Andy explained, remembering how the woman had sobbed into her shoulder as Andy had taken her away from the scene and posited her in the cruiser to calm down.

"Started going for runs to keep her mind off of it. She'd been an alcoholic for three years."

Sam's eyes flickered in understanding and sometimes Andy hated that look. The one that told her everybody knew about her father's addiction and the dirty mark it left on her badge.

She sighed.

"Her son went missing about five years ago."

Sam looked back at the woman, eyes wide.

"You think the body's her son?"

Andy shook her head again.

"No. She found her son _three years ago_. Had an O.D. in a park downtown."

Sam looked over at Janice Forester again, her lined face, and her drawn expression.

"She's just relived her son's death all over again."

Sam was contemplative, weighing the metal flask in his hands as if it held Janice's innocence inside. He bit his lip and looked back up at her. He held that same look of concern he always did. She gave him a sad smile, a reassurance, an unspoken way of saying 'This is our job. We have to deal with it.'

Sam exhaled loudly, his breath making clouds in the air as he turned and leaned back against the car beside her.

She watched him turn the flask over and over in his hands. She noticed he tended to fidget a lot when he was thinking hard.

"Listen, I know you've seen this stuff before. But you've never gone in blind. You had no idea this was a dead body. If you're not dealing with this…"

Andy shook her head.

"It's okay, Sam. I'm okay."

He grimaced and let out a humourless chuckle, recognising her lie.

They both knew what it felt like to find a body now. Andy remembered Sam telling her his first dead body. He'd been left by his training officer to visit a residence who'd been dealt with a noise complaint. A man had beaten his wife to death and smothered her screams with a pillow. He had fled before Sam arrived, leaving a bludgeoned body in his wake.

Sam told Andy he would never forget. Not the sight of her, the sound of a lawn mower next door, or the smell. There was something about the metallic smell of blood and the stench of an aging corpse left in an empty house. It left a permanent imprint on the senses.

Andy went home that night with the dead boy's eyes burned into her memory.

* * *

Andy met Traci in the locker room the next morning and Traci handed her another drawing from her son Leo.

"Aww, thank you." She smiled, and it genuinely warmed her.

"You're welcome, Aunt Andy." Traci joked, tucking her shirt into her pants. "He says the one on the left is you, the next one is me, the third is Jerry, and the last is Dex."

Andy raised her eyebrows, prepared to brush off the awkwardness of that realisation when Traci groaned.

"I know. Awkward." She exhaled, her hands clinging to her belt.

"Well at least he's drawing both of them. That's good, right?" Andy tried to reassure her. "He's adjusting. He probably enjoys having them both around. Besides, don't feel bad if it makes Dex, or Jerry feel uncomfortable. It's not about them; it's about your kid."

Traci grinned and nodded her head in agreement.

"You're very sexy when you shrink my life, McNally."

Andy laughed and it soothed her mind after the day she had yesterday.

She watched Traci with a fondness only reserved for her closest of friends. She'd do anything for Traci, and suddenly realised she wished her own mother had been as concerned about her as Traci was about Leo. It was strange to be envious of a six year old.

Andy's words had obviously helped put her friend back into a good mood, as Traci practically bounced out of the locker room. Andy followed at a more subdued pace.

Her shift started soon so she thought she would raid the vending machine before Sam and Oliver got to it. She had been staring off into space thinking about the case yesterday when Dov tapped her on the shoulder.

"Parade," he called out as he passed, pointing ahead of himself.

She pushed the flap at the bottom of the machine, reaching for her can of soda and fumbling around with the change that spat out. Looking into the parade room, Andy was confused. All the training officers on shift were there. The white boards they usually stole out of the D's office for a big case were positioned behind Frank's podium. A heavily pregnant Noelle was tacking crime scene photos up as Andy walked in behind Dov.

"What's going on?" she whispered into Sam's ear.

He jumped slightly, smiled and then seemed to collect himself, getting into a more serious expression.

Sam was standing at the back of the room; all of the seats behind the desks were taken, so Andy squeezed next to him to make room for more people entering through the door. The back of his hand brushed her hip as he crossed his arms over her chest.

She glanced at him and saw his jaw clench, his eyes blindly focussed on the empty podium at the front of the room.

"Sam?" she nudged his arm with her fist. "What's happening? Have they got an I.D. on our body?"

He seemed to become animated again, like he had just woken from a stupor.

"Yeah, his name is—"

"Eric Jorgenson." Frank bellowed into the room, gaining everyone's immediate attention.

"McNally and Peck followed up on a distress call yesterday and found a deceased John Doe. No I.D. was found on the person; however, D.N.A matched that of Eric Jorgenson. The coroner ruled it a homicide." Frank looked to Noelle beside him.

Noelle pointed to the picture of Eric. It looked like a school photograph; neat clothes, plain painted backdrop and a fake smile plastered on his face.

"Eric Jorgensen's priors consisted of petty theft, and possession. However, before now we were aware of his ties to the Couperet, Gordon, and Fields drug trafficking case."

Andy's eyes grew wide and she looked at Sam as if to corroborate what was being said. He nodded in acknowledgment.

"Holy shit, this just keeps getting better…" she hissed under her breath.

"Jorgenson was not reported missing, but after interviewing his mother, Claire Jorgenson, we found out that they were estranged and she had no knowledge of any other family he'd had connections with. Nobody knew he was even gone."

Frank turned back to look at his audience of keen officers with straight backs and wide eyes. Sometimes the amount of glory given to the person that solved a case made Andy uncomfortable. They all looked like rabid dogs as they listened intently to Frank's debrief, not like they wanted the truth, but the rewards they could reap from finding it.

But she couldn't say she was innocent of finding solace in recognition. Andy knew what it was like putting in the hard work and having people notice. The only problem working with other cops is when they put their own goals in front of their peers. It's something Gail used to do when they first started, but Andy knew she only stole the glory to prove she wasn't privileged by her parents' statuses in the system.

It sort of sounded contradictory, but Andy knew what it was like trying to prove your worth and individuality when your suffocating under a blanket of your parents' legacies. Unfortunately, Tommy McNally didn't pose a question of Andy's deserving of her job, just her integrity.

"Teams are scouring the surrounding areas of the scene for evidence today before the weather gets bad." Frank continued. "But we need an entire team effort on this front, okay guys? Don't ignore your general duties, but whenever you have a second to spare, get stuck into helping us out. We're short staffed and overworked but—"

Andy jumped as a body nudged her as they came into the room. She moved closer to Sam to get out of the way.

"But you've got me to pick up the slack, huh, Frank?" the voice boomed from the door way.

Andy visibly flinched at Luke Callaghan's voice, and turned to look at him, shocked. She hadn't seen him since he abruptly left for a confidential task force assignment about seven months ago. He glanced at her before addressing the whole room. He looked different. Not just that he grew a ghastly looking beard and kept a groomed Abercrombie and Fitch-esque haircut, but it was the indifference and lack of warmth in his eyes that stunned Andy the most.

Not that he should be dealt with anything but disdain from her perspective, but it was kind of disconcerting to see a completely different person take the old Luke's place.

When she overcame her initial surprise, she registered Sam's rigid pose behind her as she leaned against him. She thought she'd made him uncomfortable with her proximity, and ignored the fact that she got goose bumps with his breath against the back of her neck, but realised as she glanced over her shoulder at him that he was staring at Luke with a strange look of contempt.

"…all know this is a big case." Luke said.

Andy finally tuned back into the speech as Luke was wrapping it up.

"And we also know that the drug ring leaders are big suspects. But you cannot, I repeat cannot dive in head first with these guys. You find anything out on your own and you contact either Frank, Jerry, or me, before you make a move. We cannot risk blowing this case."

Luke tossed the ball to Frank again.

"Everybody welcome Detective Callaghan back to fifteen!" he started clapping.

Luke smiled modestly and nodded.

Andy's hands numbly followed suit as she stared at him unabashedly until Noelle finally piped up in her usual enthusiasm.

"Okay, everybody get to work!"


	2. Tara Hunter

A/N Thanks for making it to the second chapter, I guess. Enjoy!

* * *

The clapping died down at Noelle's order, and the room became a swarm of uniforms. Luke was so tall he stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb, everybody moved around him now, like he held an invisible power barrier around him. He had his hands on his hips, tucked in the pockets of his pea coat. Andy wondered why his physical appearance changed so dramatically from the tailored and neat trimmed suits, to this kind of hipster motif.

"Looks like you're riding with me today," Sam leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

She tried not to visibly shiver, and blush, for the way the sentence fell from his lips sounded like a seduction.

She felt eyes burning into her flesh, and looked up to see Luke quickly look away before Sam stepped out from beside her to leave the room.

"You okay, McNally?" he asked casually, a stark contrast to his previous demeanour.

She nodded numbly then watched Sam approach Luke.

Why was the air so thick with tension that it was like breathing underwater?

Sam slapped Luke on the shoulder, which appeared to be camaraderie, but what Andy construed to be condescending.

Luke looked down at Sam with a similar look of discontent.

"Great to have you back, buddy." Sam grinned, grabbing the squad keys from the wall behind Luke.

Andy didn't want to look at the man who betrayed and broke her heart. But for some reason it wasn't that hard. She stared at him on her way out, never breaking eye contact until he was out of sight.

* * *

Sam and Andy hadn't made it five minutes before arresting somebody.

"Joseph Alexander," Sam read from the middle-aged man's driver's licence.

Andy had his arms twisted behind his back, slapping the cuffs around his wrists. They clicked as she tightened them enough to restrain him but keep him from injury.

"You got anything on you that could hurt me?" Andy said aloud as Sam continued to flip through the man's wallet.

"I didn't do shit, man. Come on!" he groaned, twisting his body to face Andy.

She shoved him back onto the squad car and nudged his shoe with her boot, parting his feet. She looked up again to see Sam watching her intently.

She took a deep breath and asked him again.

"I asked you a question, Mr Alexander. Do you have anything in your pockets that might hurt me?"

"No!" he snapped, banging his head against the car.

"Enough." Andy retorted and began patting him down with gloved hands.

"What was it that you threw out of your car window when we pulled you up, huh?" she asked, carefully burrowing her hand into his loose pockets.

"Nothing." He muttered. "Can I get a lawyer now, lady?"

"You'll be able to get a lawyer once we get you back to the station." Sam told him exasperatedly.

"But for now you'll have to learn to shut the fuck up."

Andy finished her initial search and pulled him back by the elbow to open the door.

"Ow, you're fucking hurting me," he spat, thrusting his body away from Andy.

Sam yelled as he twisted and head butted her in the face. She stumbled backwards.

"Bitch!" he shouted, before Sam's body came slamming against Joseph's, pinning him to the squad car, and shoving him into it with as much force as he could muster.

"Andy!" he slammed the car door, and grabbed her arm.

"I'm fine." She told him, cupping her hand to her cheek.

"You sure?" he asked, covering her hand with his.

She looked up into his eyes, and the intensity there was limitless. She felt it burning into her and was scared she might lose herself, scared of what she might do if she did. So she broke her gaze and everything came back into focus. Sam seemed to shake himself out of it too, and dropped his hand, squeezing it into a fist at his side.

"Let me see?" he asked gently and she lowered her hand to show him.

She stopped and looked at her reflection in the passenger side window.

"Son of a motherfucker." She gasped, glaring at their passenger.

A shapely red mark was blossoming on her left cheekbone. She wanted to pull the perp out of the car and lay one into him to see how he would feel.

He caught her off guard just for a second. And it was barely a half hour into her shift.

She felt like it was an omen that it was going to be one shit hole of a day.

And when they arrived back to the barn, she realised she'd been right.

Sam dropped a case file down onto the desk in front of Andy as she was filling out the paper work for their arrest.

Well, she'd been trying to look for another pen after Oliver had come along and stolen hers. Her hands moved, framing the ominous folder full of God knows what awfulness.

She glanced up at Sam before sliding her finger under the cover, and what greeted her underneath was nothing pretty.

"They found another body." Sam said before she had time to register it.

He sat on the edge of her desk and picked up a paper clip and started unwinding it into a straight piece of wire.

Andy sunk into the file and read.

"Tara Hunter…" she took a deep breath and read the next part with every ounce of regret inside her. "Nineteen years old." She shook her head.

"We won't know cause of death for a bit longer," Sam informed her, dropping his mutilated paperclip on the desk and plucking another one.

Andy flipped over the victim's profile and saw the crime scene photos.

"She was wrapped in plastic sheeting? Do we think this is the same person that killed Eric, too?" she asked without looking up.

"Maybe." Was all he said.

"She was going to college, model student…" Andy frowned at the lack of similarities between this girl and Eric Jorgenson.

"But how can they be linked; this girl is perfect and Eric Jorgenson was a drug dealer. What did this girl ever do to these guys?"

"Not everything always matches up, McNally." Sam said, and she looked back up at him, tearing her eyes away from the file.

"Okay, 'Murder, She Wrote'," she quipped, dropping the folder back on the desk so they could both examine it. "How do you think these two are connected?"

"Well," he began, plucking another paper clip, "Opposites attract."

Her eyes travelled back to Tara's photograph.

"You mean you think they were romantically involved?" her eyebrows rose sceptically.

Sam pursed his lips and remained silent. Andy considered it.

"I guess I've been her before." She digressed, remembering her propensity to date the wrong guys in high school despite her GPA.

Sam was smiling at his hands when she looked back at him again. It was his warm smile; not sarcastic or intentionally charming. Just him.

"Okay, so maybe they _were_ together. How did she get caught up in Eric's mess?"

Sam shrugged, and inclined his head from side to side, grimacing.

"Maybe they never intended to kill her. Maybe she interrupted. Or…maybe she was used as a tool against him."

"What do you mean, 'used as a tool'? What, like, to get revenge on Eric or something?"

Sam nodded and stood up with a sigh.

"It's the best way to hurt somebody, McNally. Take away what they care about the most."

* * *

Andy went home with a migraine that day. Cursing under her breath about the guy that head butted her earlier, she let Traci walk her to the parking lot, but decided to walk home.

The air was brisk and biting. Andy sloshed her way along the sidewalk, regretting that she didn't just call a cab to bring her home. At least it wasn't snowing, or raining, for that matter. Thoughts about the case came too easily, and before long she couldn't stop seeing Tara Hunter's face, imagining with what brutality some drug dealers could have taken her and killed her.

She had been reported missing, which is why it was easier to identify her body. She had people that had missed her. Outside of her job (volunteering at the local pet shelter), she had people to notice something was wrong.

Her heart twinged at the thought of the girl, and what horrors she could have faced before meeting her untimely end.

Doing this job caused you to lose your innocence. Andy thought about her fresh face and genuine smile before she started as a rookie, and desperately wanted it back.

A mother lost her daughter today, and Janice relived her son's death yesterday. Neither of them were bad people.

Thinking back to Janice, the woman who found Eric's body, Andy reminded herself to check up on her. Who else would? She'd appreciate somebody's concern if she were in Janice's situation.

Andy was closing in on her street when she heard a car rolling up behind her. She ignored it, but noticed the pace that it was going, equal to her footsteps. The lights lit up the icy road before it, and she considered quickly darting across the street and legging it the rest of the way to her building. She'd let out a deep breath, the heat from her mouth blowing steamy clouds of moisture in the winter air.

She quickened her pace along the street, stepping carefully so as to not slide on some ice and fall flat on her ass, severely hindering her chances of escaping her car stalker.

The wheels of the car crunched over the pools of icy slush gathered across the road. She turned to glance at the driver, and caught sight of Sam. Relief flooded through her, with a touch of embarrassment at assuming the person behind the wheel was intent on abducting her or something.

The car stopped and the passenger side window rolled down. She stepped off the side walk to lean against Sam's truck, poking her head through the window.

She could feel the heater blasting warmth through the cabin and revelled in the feeling that returned to her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously.

"I was just on my way home, and I saw this homeless woman walking in the freezing cold. I thought I might throw her a blanket and tell her to get a job." He explained with a completely straight face.

"Gee, thanks, Mother Theresa. But I think I'd rather sleep with the rats tonight than accept any of your charity, bub."

Sam laughed and motioned for her to get in.

"You're such a creeper." She grinned, throwing herself up into the seat and slamming the door shut.

"Ughhhhh…." She groaned, and continued to make noises of pleasure. "Damn, it's so nice in here." She sighed, rubbing her gloved hands in front of the air vent.

"Thank you, Sam." Sam said. "You're welcome, Andy."

She rolled her eyes.

"Alright, alright. Take me home, you jackass."

Sam pulled out from the kerb, and drove to her apartment, parking out on the street.

Andy had felt light and buoyant when Sam surprised her on the kerb, but now that they were sitting in a parked car together, not sure of what to do next, her heart was as heavy as lead.

Her fingers fumbled with the sleeve of her jacket as the silence lengthened and neither of them would break it.

This seemed to be happening a lot. Like they were keeping up this display of easiness whenever they were moving around, or doing something. But when things got to a precipice like they did now (should she invite him in, should she say goodnight?), everything went blank and tense. It was getting stuffy in the car, like breathing under a heavy blanket.

Andy cracked the window and let some of the chill roll in; pulling her scarf away from her neck like it might choke her at any minute.

Sam had his fingers looped through the steering wheel, staring down at them before he turned to look her in the eyes.

They burned.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Andy." Were the words that fell from his lips.

They slapped her in the face like a sobering splash of water. She nodded and smiled, stopping herself from leaning over the centre console and…

She shook her head and resecured her beanie, opening the door and stepping out. He started the truck back up and it roared loudly in her empty street.

She rounded the front of the car and he rolled his window down before she was out of sight. She turned back to face the street.

"What?" she asked.

"Give me a call if you ever need another ride."

She dropped her head in a single nod and waved as he rolled the window back up with a wink.

She chuckled, and shook her head at his boyishness. One minute he was Serious Sam, a nickname which made him sound like a Dr. Seuss character, and the next he was as charming as a five-man boy band rolled into a single person, but without the pubescent acne.

She couldn't help but feel disappointed at her lack of initiative to invite him into her house, even if it was just innocent.

The fact that he made the move to go home instead was a little less than pleasant, not that she should complain now that she missed the opportunity. Sometimes she found herself just craving his company, and missing it like you miss a familiar scent, or taste.

Sam filled her senses more completely, and more often than she cared to admit.

Opening the door to her empty apartment, Andy looked around. She dropped her keys on the nightstand, and hung up her coat. She locked up and unwound her scarf, making her way to her bedroom and switching on lights along her way.

She balked at the silence around her, never having noticed just how alone it felt to live there.

Flopping herself down on the end of the bed, she considered buying a cat; a jerky cat, like Banjo. The cat she had to feed after a woman she saved out of a burning wreck of a car got a blood clot and died.

She had to admit to herself that she wanted a companion. Andy pictured herself buying a cat, and then another, feeding her loneliness and gradually becoming a scary cat lady who ate cereal out of the box, watched reruns of cheesy TV soaps, and wore food stained pyjamas and crusty socks all day.

Well, she already ate cereal out of the box, and watched cheesy soaps, but there was a line she had to stay behind if she ever wanted to have sex with anyone again.

She toed off her boots and rubbed at her feet before falling back onto the bed with her arms spread at her sides.

She inhaled deeply and stared blankly at the ceiling, eventually falling asleep. Thoughts of Tara Hunter, and other pale faces wrapped in plastic whispered behind her eyes.

* * *

Andy woke up again countless times throughout the night.

Once the morning had appeared, she fought the urge to keep slapping the snooze button on the alarm clock. The clock beeped for the fourth time before Andy groaned even louder than the first time, and stretched out under the blankets.

Her eyes were heavy and the morning felt cruel.

She shut off her alarm and shuffled to the bathroom to have a shower. She had a few hours before she started work, but before that she had promised to visit her father.

Tommy was never one for cooking proper meals, so Andy took it upon herself to make a few dinners and freeze them in microwave-able containers. That way at least she knew he had some nutritional meals throughout the week. She also went and did it because it gave her an excuse to check on his drinking. If he'd fallen off the wagon again, or if he was close to it.

Sometimes she hated being an only child, saddled with the duty of cleaning up watery vomit after a whole bottle of bourbon was consumed or dragging his limp and wasted body into the bathroom, spraying the shower on his face to wake him out of his stupor.

She'd had to call the ambulance a few times, and wondered perhaps a little morbidly, if all this liver damage was catching up to Tommy.

It had been three months since he'd last stumbled into the drink. After that episode of falling down the stairs and breaking his arm, he decided to give it up again.

Andy wasn't entirely convinced. He'd had dry spells before, but it was only a matter of time before she was banging on his door at three a.m. to make sure he hadn't drowned himself in liquor.

She arrived at his house, and he answered the door straight after she knocked. He was clean shaven, in clean clothes, and he didn't reek of alcohol. She was pleased, and calmed at the fact.

Andy hated to be so negative about Tommy's recovery. It's just that the amount of disappointments had taken their toll and she couldn't let herself have hope. It was funny how she gave complete trust to strangers, giving even the most hopeless of cases the benefit of the doubt. But when it came to her own father, she was subtly smelling his breath and casing his apartment for empty bottles before she believed he was still clean.

"How's the job going, honey?" he pulled out a seat for her at the kitchen table and went to grab the coffee pot.

He held it up in question.

"Sure," she nodded and he poured her a cup.

"Um," she went on, answering his first question. "It's alright. We've got a lead on a drug cartel case. One of their couriers was found dead the other day. I was called in for that part."

She watched him, and caught his slight pause as he absorbed that little tid bit. He continued making her coffee, exactly how he had his; no sugar, lots of milk, and extra hot.

"After scouring the area, they found a second one."

Tommy turned to set the coffees on the table with a confused frown.

"That doesn't sound like a professional hit." He commented, opening a tin of cookies that sat on the table.

He offered her one and she plucked an Oreo from the plethora of treats.

She shook her head.

"I didn't think so at first, either. They're thinking the two knew each other. A girl and the courier. Like they were involved."

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

"Romantically." Andy clarified and Tommy waved a hand.

"I know what you mean." He chuckled, and then his mouth straightened into a thin line as he mulled it over.

"What's the cause of death?"

It was weird how cops continued to be cops even after they retired. Tommy was as interested in Andy's case as he would have been in his own cases back in the days he worked Homicide.

"They don't know yet. Coroner's report should be back today on both of them. But when we found them, the girl had a knife wound to the neck, and the boy's throat was slit."

Tommy's cheek bulged with cookie. He brushed crumbs off the table with the side of his hand.

"Don't you think that's a little messy for these guys, though?" Andy pushed.

"I mean, it's Phillip Couperet. I know he wouldn't do anything personally, but wouldn't any of his jobs be a little more…I don't know…hidden?"

Tommy was already shaking his head.

"Not necessarily," he said, crumbs falling from between his lips. "I had a case once. Jamie Brennan, the organised crime boss; he takes care of people with his own hands. You don't wanna see the things he's done to people."

She remembered Jamie Brennan. He almost killed Sam on his UC job. Andy couldn't stop her thoughts from drifting back to that night in the Alpine Inn, where she and Traci had run into Sam's operation.

She'd almost thrown herself at Sam that night. She even considered going back into the Inn and asking him to come home with her. Something told her not to, though. But then again, if she'd been with Sam that night maybe she could have stopped him from getting Made. Maybe Jamie Brennan wouldn't have been able to hurt him. The thought of the man made her stomach clench in anxiety, her fists tighten in rage.

"Yeah," she said without any volume in her voice, swallowing loudly. "I remember him."

"Then you'd remember that not all professional kills are clean and on purpose. Maybe she interrupted the job, or…" he popped the rest of his cookie in his mouth. "Maybe they knew about her and used her against him."

Andy sighed.

"That's just what Swarek said."

Tommy chuckled.

"Yeah, well, he always did have a keen nose for detective work. Wonder why he never worked his way into the D's office."

Andy knew why. He loved the streets too much. Detective work was too much red tape, and too many case files. He couldn't stand sitting behind a desk for too long. It would drive him insane.

"Sounds like you don't agree." Tommy murmured, downing the rest of his coffee and taking his empty cup to the sink.

"I don't know." She groaned, catching sight of her reflection in the cup. "There's just something that's nagging at me."

She looked up at him as he leaned against the counter, folding his arms.

"There's just…" she tried to grasp for the right words, but couldn't find them.

But Tommy watched her in understanding.

"What?" she asked.

He laughed.

"I know that look." He told her with a proud smile.

"Yeah, it means I'm frustrated and hopeless at investigations." She muttered.

Tommy shook his head.

"No, it means you're a real cop. You're made for this job when you question things, Andy. Don't ever be complacent. Don't ever settle if you feel something is wrong."

He turned back around to rinse out his coffee cup. The early morning light filtered through the glazed windows, highlighting her father's thinning hair, and the dust that floated through the air.

Andy pondered his words, and was itching to get her hands on the case file again.

"Thanks, Dad."

He didn't ask about the bruise on her cheek.

Maybe he didn't want to know, or maybe he already did.


	3. To Serve and Protect

As Andy attached her Velcro badge to her shirt, Gail came into the locker room to change out of her uniform.

"Bad day?" Andy asked and Gail looked at her disdainfully in answer.

Andy couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's been bat shit crazy out there. But knowing my luck, it's probably died down and you'll be working the murder case with Homicide. I've been knee deep in fucking domestics all day."

She unclipped her tie and untucked her shirt. Andy pulled her foot up to the bench next to her to tie her shoe laces.

"Is there any news on Eric Jorgensen and the drug trio yet?" Andy couldn't help herself from asking.

Gail shook her head.

"You probably know as much as I do." She muttered. "Anyway," she pulled her shirt off and threw her plain clothes on haphazardly.

"I'm getting drunk tonight!" she grinned as Andy strode from the room.

She looked back at her blonde colleague and laughed.

"Have fun." She waved.

Rounding the corner, she came eye-to-nipple with Luke Callaghan. Homicide himself.

"Oh, sorry," she said quickly.

"Don't worry about it." He brushed it off, his hand gently caressing her shoulder on the way past.

Andy stood frozen and cringed inwardly. It's not as if he was disgusting, although the feelings of disgust were significant after his indiscretion with Rosati, it was just that the act was sort of intimate. Andy had long since abandoned any intimate feelings for Luke. It was just sort of weird for him to touch her like that anymore. Even being as innocent as it was probably intended, she could compare the feeling to having a stranger touch her cheek or tuck her hair behind her ear.

It was uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, she decided it was better than being tense and cynical about the split. At least he wasn't being a total dick. She could deal with this Luke, even if he was scoring a position on the douche-scale.

"Hey!" Sam caught her attention from down in the pit, sitting on top of the desk Oliver was working at.

Of course they were both eating.

She made her way over to them and discovered Oliver wasn't working at all, but discreetly playing a game of space invaders on his iPhone while his paper work from the day sat half done on top of the key board.

Paper wrappings from take-out cheeseburgers littered the surrounding area. One was open with discarded pickles lying on top of it. Sam swallowed his last bite and scrunched his trash into a ball, pegging it at the bin next to Noelle. It missed, and she glared.

"You just start?" Andy asked Sam.

He nodded with a grin as Oliver rolled his eyes, smirking down at his screen.

"Whoah, Ollie!" Jerry appeared behind his shoulder, causing Oliver to lose focus on his game.

"You almost beat my high score, man!" he slapped him on the shoulder and Oliver protested.

"Come on, Barber," he groaned. "You pretty much bent me over the table last night in poker. At least let me keep a shred of dignity here."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Andy.

"There's dignity in playing space invaders?" Andy asked sceptically.

All three stopped to look up at her.

She lifted her hands up defensively and laughed, staying out of it from there.

The phone began making noises and Oliver cursed at it in frustration as Jerry threw his hands up in victory.

"No!" Oliver threw his phone down and leaned his forehead on his folded arms in defeat.

Jerry leaned on top of him with a smile as Swarek dug his phone out to take a picture.

Oliver dug a twenty out of his pocket without looking up.

"I swear to god, Barber. Next time I won't just bet you your _facial_ hair."

Jerry deposited the money into his suit jacket and slapped his friend on the back one more time as Sam and Andy laughed at the spectacle.

Oliver sat up shaking his head, and then inclined it to both Sam and Andy.

"I'll see you guys at changeover. Have a good one." He got up and fled to the locker rooms.

Andy turned to find Sam watching her. She smiled and shrugged.

"So, what's on the agenda, today?"

Sam went to say something when Luke interrupted, striding towards them.

"You'll be coming with me." He said.

They both looked at him and the file he had in his hand.

Eric's file.

"We'll be searching Jorgensen's apartment this afternoon. He's been living in a loft downtown, a few blocks away from where Tara Hunter lived. He lived alone and paid rent with cash."

"Yes, sir." Andy nodded, swallowing hard as silence now resounded between the three of them.

~0~

The loft wasn't as dingy as Andy had expected. But then the drug business was pretty lucrative. She bet Eric Jorgensen never went hungry after they took him under their wing. The furniture was expensive, but still simple. There were band posters everywhere. Some of them framed.

What surprised Andy the most was the picture of Claire Jorgensen on the window sill in the kitchen. Maybe Eric hadn't completely cut himself off from his mother.

He must have still thought about her. Sam agreed with her and told, rather than asked, Luke, to check on Claire's bank account. Maybe Eric was giving her money, looking after her if he still cared to have her picture in his home. Maybe Claire knew more than she was letting on.

The ceilings were high, and the floor was polished hard wood. It echoed.

Andy got down on her stomach to check under his bed.

"Nothing but dust bunnies." She commented.

Sam was rummaging through the chest of drawers and Luke was in the other room, searching the kitchen.

Andy got up onto her knees and caught the look on Sam's face.

"You okay?" he asked her as she stared.

"Yeah. You okay?" she returned, blowing a stray piece of hair from her face.

"Yeah." He shrugged, slamming one of the drawers shut and nearly pulling the handles off the next one.

"Because you kind of seem pissed off about something." She whispered, knowing if she talked any louder, their voices would carry to Luke.

He shrugged again.

"You seem off, too. Is it Callaghan?" he seemed nonchalant.

Well, it was the most obvious reason for her uneasiness.

"Maybe." She answered noncommittally.

He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Is it weird?"

She shoved her hands under the mattress, pushing it away across the base of the frame to check underneath.

"Yes. It's completely weird, right? I don't know how to act. He's a different person."

Sam was quiet.

"Would you ever…" he closed the last drawer and went to the night stand, facing her across the bed now.

His unsaid question hung in the air and she was incredulous. She had to fight to prevent herself from laughing.

"Go back to him?" she hissed. "God, no. Even if he was the same person. Never."

"Hate to interrupt you guys." Luke bellowed from the door way.

Andy jumped and closed her eyes in embarrassment. Sam looked unashamed.

"But when you're finished with the pillow talk, we've got an investigation to work on." He held up a large sandwich bag full of individual bags containing a familiar, powdery white substance.

As he scrutinised Andy with a searing stare, her hand encountered something between the bed frame and the mattress. She pulled out a plastic bag, about the size of a briefcase. It was full of money; all larger bills.

All three of them shared a look, and it wasn't entirely disdainful. It was more a look of 'this case is definitely gonna be big'.

Luke's phone rang, he turned his back to the both of them and Andy shot Sam an accusing look which he had the nerve to respond with pouting his bottom lip like he was innocent.

Luke snapped his phone shut and brought their attention back to him, he actually looked quite excited and relieved.

"We've finally found them." He said.

"Which one?" Sam asked.

"All three."

* * *

"Howard Gordon, Ripley Fields, and Phillip Couperet." Each name was punctuated with the slap of a pile of photographs falling to the steel table.

Luke then sat down having emptied the load off his hands.

He'd blown up a series of crime scene photos of Eric Jorgensen's corpse, and Tara Hunter's. None of the men seemed fazed, nor did they move to touch the pictures. All three stared at Luke as if he hadn't dumped a plethora of horrific imagery right before them.

The air was tight.

Luke sat back in his chair, looking relaxed. But it was a calculated move. He had a small smile, and his fingers tented in front of him as he stared each one in the eye.

Luke had invited Andy to join him in the interrogation while Sam watched from behind the 2A mirror.

All three men couldn't be more different in physical appearance, yet they were identical in demeanour. Perhaps their behaviour was as calculated as an interrogator's.

Howard Gordon, 48, married, three children; he was plump, had a handlebar moustache that was meticulously trimmed, and a bald head. Andy could see tattoos on his hands that must have stretched up his arms, but were obscured by a nicely tailored suit jacket.

Ripley Fields, 45, married, no children; average build, greying light brown hair, no tattoos, cleanly shaven, and had piercing blue eyes. If Andy didn't know any better, he could have passed for a respectable business man.

And then there was Phillip Couperet.

He was 48, same age as Howard. They had gone to school together, apparently. He had been married but his wife passed away two years ago from lung cancer. He had no children. He looked less calm, and more agitated.

Andy looked at him and kept her focus, picking him out to be the one most likely to talk.

He caught her stare and matched it with his own. His eyes were brown, almost black; when he stared it felt like his eyes pierced into her skin.

He wore a single gold ring on his right hand on his pinky finger. There was a thick gold chain around his neck. He was also plump like Howard, but without the full head of hair. He was a Tony Soprano doppelganger but without the Jersey accent.

"You got something to share about these pictures, gentlemen?" Luke piped up finally, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the table.

Howard spoke first.

"Must have cost you a lot in printing."

Ripley chuckled while Phillip kept staring at Andy. Her heart was beating really fast but she thought maybe she could crack him until he opened his mouth.

"You must be a rookie." His voice was gravelly, probably from habitual smoking.

"Eric Jorgensen." Luke said louder, ignoring Phillip's words and leaning over to pull a picture of Eric's body from the stack.

"Murdered three days ago."

The three men finally acknowledged the picture Luke was indicating. Phillip finally took his eyes off of Andy. She breathed out.

"Throat was slit, dumped in a ditch. Did he not meet a quota in time or something?" Luke prodded.

"Don't even know the kid." Ripley said, pushing the picture away.

"What about Tara Hunter?" Andy found her voice.

Luke looked at her, warning her with his eyes to be careful.

She reached out to the pictures and pulled out Tara's.

"Her body was found within a few yards of Eric's. Same M. O. Stab wound to the neck and drained of blood. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

The three men looked at her. Howard and Ripley shared a look and shrugged. Andy caught the slight twitch in Phillip's face. But it disappeared so quickly she thought she could have imagined it. But she wouldn't forget.

"Looks a little macabre for you three. See this kind of murder," Luke pulled out Eric's picture, a close-up of his neck wounds. "You would expect to be motivated by anger. Eric was rising up in the ranks, wasn't he? You trusted him…he did something that broke that trust. The Rouge Brothers are known for being pretty ruthless."

"Not that you could prove it." Ripley retorted.

"And we resent that label." Howard added.

Andy noticed that Phillip was trying too hard not to look at the pictures. She thought Luke noticed too, as he began directing his questions at Phillip.

He'd also picked him for an easier target.

But their words bounced off the walls as if nobody was even in that room with them.

About two hours later, Luke was forced to release the men. As they filed out of the room with smirks on their faces, apart from Phillip, Andy sidled up to Luke.

"Did you see that?" she whispered after they were out of ear shot.

"See what, Andy?" Luke sounded tired.

Sam joined them then.

"Sam, did you see it?" she asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes with confusion.

"You didn't see Phillip's face when I showed him that picture?" Andy was getting slightly excited.

"I saw something!" she hissed at the both of them.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked.

"Well, no. It was only, like, a split second but I'm sure there was something about that picture that scared him."

"Andy. Just stop." Luke sighed, letting the door to the interrogation room swing closed.

"No, believe me—"

"McNally, let it go, okay? You're not a detective, so quit pretending to be one."

"Hey," Sam protested.

"What?!" Luke raised his voice, turning on Sam.

"How does this have anything to do with you? I was talking to McNally."

"Luke, what the hell…" Andy rounded Luke's frame to get in between the two men, afraid of what all the building tension might result in.

She'd seen Sam almost pummel Luke to the ground before in a retraining session. That was when he was wearing protective gear. The thought of Luke returning the blows to Sam made her blood run cold.

"Calm down, Jesus!" she held her hand up to Luke, as if to stop him from approaching the two of them.

She glanced at Sam, his eyes fixed on Luke, too.

Luke rolled his eyes and stalked off in the opposite direction.

"You sure about what you saw?" Sam finally asked her in a calmer voice.

"Yes. Except…" she hesitated.

He waited and she bit her lip, shaking her head.

"I don't know it's just…it didn't seem like he looked guilty. I don't know."

Sam inclined his head from side to side and grimaced.

"Yeah, maybe. But you gotta remember, McNally; these guys are made to mislead you. This case has been a dead end from the start. If it was these guys, which we know it was, we're finished before we even started. They're meticulous. Never get their hands dirty, never leave any trail."

Andy nodded in understanding, despite feeling differently.

The way she saw it, the three men acted cool because Eric was their courier, but their carelessness about it made Andy believe they knew they were clean. This felt even more true, especially because an outsider was involved, even if she might have been associated with Eric.

One thing was for sure, though. She had to get Phillip Couperet on his own.

* * *

Andy and Sam commandeered the interrogation room Luke had been using, setting up all the files and photos associated with the double homicide. Andy had been staring at Tara's picture for almost half an hour when Sam mentioned coffee.

She murmured an order for a soup bowl full of double strength espresso before the door swung closed behind him.

Tara Hunter looked almost serene in death. Andy grew cold looking into her eyes. They gazed at nothing and were slightly obscured by the opaque layer of plastic covering her. She looked like she had been on a night out or something with the way she was dolled up. Her makeup was immaculate, and there was no bloodstaining on her clothes. This suggested she could have been covered in plastic and restrained before she was exsanguinated. But there was no evidence of any ligature marks. Andy swapped to examine the other pictures of Tara, provided by her family. There were dozens, and that wasn't counting the ones uploaded online.

There was something about Tara's personal photos that didn't gel with Andy. In her own photos, Tara never wore makeup. In another photo, Tara's clothes were laid out on a table. The clothes she was found in. They were also fairly clean, and upmarket. Tara wasn't necessarily short of money, but Andy didn't think she was the type that made a wardrobe out of designer clothes.

Andy chewed on her lip and searched for something to compare this idea with. She found Tara's missing persons file. Sam entered the room then, the smell of coffee wafting through the door with him. Andy's mouth watered, but her eyes didn't leave the page. She saw Sam get on his knees out of the corner of her eye, placing her cup next to her knee.

Andy's eyes followed the words on the page and focused on the statement Tara's parents gave following her disappearance.

They described what she looked like, what she was wearing, where and when they last saw her.

Andy did a double take and held up the file to Sam in confusion.

"The Hunters described Tara as wearing jeans, a blue sweater, and a black parka."

Sam was settling himself on the floor against the wall; blowing on his coffee as he took a sip.

He shrugged at her comment.

"So?"

"So," Andy was frowning down at the pictures and picked up one from the crime scene. "She was wearing a cocktail dress, and heels. She didn't even have a jacket on."

"She could have been on her way to a date with Eric…" Sam offered, shaking his head. "Maybe she was going out with her friends."

Andy was already shaking her head.

"It still doesn't make sense. The time frame indicates that Tara disappeared between 10 am on Tuesday when her parents last saw her, and 3 pm when she was supposed to meet her friends for coffee."

Sam looked thoughtful.

"Why would she change into this kind of getup in the middle of the day, and just to meet her friends for coffee?"

Andy didn't like where this theory was leading, but she also knew it had to mean something.

Sam was still on the fence.

"Why would the three musketeers dress her up in nice clothes?" Sam argued, nicknaming the drug ring leaders.

"I'm saying that maybe they didn't do it. What do these characteristics point to in a homicide investigation?" Andy waved the pictures at him for emphasis.

"You think it was serial?"

Andy just looked at him and Sam laughed mirthlessly.

"We can't just go labelling it a serial killer, not with a clear connection between Eric and The Rouge Brothers." Sam reasoned.

Andy sighed and dropped the pictures, grabbing her coffee cup with two hands and inhaling the aroma. She hadn't eaten her whole shift.

"I'm just saying…" she added, slightly deflated that Sam hadn't immediately jumped on board with her theory. "It looks odd. She doesn't seem the type to wear designer clothes or to slather on the makeup. It doesn't look like she ever did, to be honest."

Silence fell over them then.

The whole thing seemed off to Andy. If it was one thing her father taught her about people, it's that they don't like change. Tara Hunter was a natural beauty, and kind of a tomboy. Why had she suddenly broken from habit?

"If it was a serial killer," Sam continued after a few moments. "Why are the wounds different…why does it look like Tara was killed slowly and precisely, while Eric's murder was rushed?"

Andy hadn't considered that. Tara may have looked immaculate, but Eric was another story. His clothes had blood on them. Perhaps that gave more credence to the cartel theory.

"I guess it's possible that they took Tara, kept her as bait, killed her while Eric watched and then did away with him quicker because they ran out of time." Andy thought out loud, still uncomfortable with that theory.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced at her watch.

"It's almost the end of shift anyway. I don't know how much longer Frank is gonna let us stay assigned to this case. It's not like we're helping much."

"Oh, on the contrary, McNally." Sam said and she turned to look at him in surprise. "I think you're doing a great job."

He half-smiled in that charming way that made her pulse race and stutter. She smiled.

"Thanks."

His smile faded and his face became serious again, and he was looking at her in that way, like he did outside her apartment the other night. She was excited and scared at the same time, about what he was going to say next. If he was going to say anything.

"How's your cheek?" was what fell from his lips.

Andy frowned.

"Huh?"

He pointed at her face and she cupped her cheek in recognition, remembering the guy that head butted her. The pain had gone, she'd long forgotten about that incident.

"Oh." She said, shaking her head. "It's—it's fine."

* * *

Andy shuffled her way into the locker room after shift ended, stripping off her uniform and pulling on her plain clothes.

She dabbed on a little lip gloss and got a ride with Dov to The Penny. Sam had gotten caught up with Jerry over another case, and he told her not to wait up.

Walking in, the smell of liquor hit her like a wall. The bar was dim with neon signs adorning the walls. She saw Gail slumped over one of the corner tables with Nick rubbing her back. Andy really hoped she hadn't been here since noon, although that would be in true Gail fashion. They were all young so they may as well abuse their livers for another few years while their bodies were still resilient and could handle the nightly poisonings.

Andy was a little more conservative in that respect. She drank, and on occasion, got drunk. But if there was one thing she had promised to herself, it was that she'd never _be _a drunk. The distinction being that one was a constant state of being. Tommy McNally had recently jumped from that category. However no amount of improvement from her father would ever lead Andy to believe that she was immune to that kind of addiction, especially being in the law enforcement profession, and daughter of said addict.

She took a stool right at the bar and ordered a beer. Dov sat next to her and they talked about work, and his girlfriend, Crystal.

Andy was proud of herself that she never judged Dov about that even if she thought it was a bad decision. She was just glad he was happy. She didn't bring up the homicide case, though, like she was afraid if by sharing it, she would jinx it. They ordered another round and Dov paid for both while Andy hopped down to use the bathroom. On her way across the bar, she spotted a familiar face, staring down the neck of a Budweiser.

Phillip Couperet.

She forgot what she was doing for the moment, and approached him.

Trying to be inconspicuous and failing, she pulled up a barstool next to him and tapped her fingers.

"Listen sweetheart, even if I did deal, I wouldn't deal to a cop."

"So you admit you're a dealer." Andy raised her eyebrow and he glanced up at her with a bored expression.

"I said '_even if I did'_."

Andy shook her head, trying to get on course.

"Anyway, I'm not looking to score or anything, okay. I'm not even trying to accuse you of anything-"

"Ha. You'd be a first." He smiled, then took a swig.

"I just wanted to ask you, person to person."

"Listen," he waved his hand at her dismissively. "I don't got time for people, much less cops."

"I know. I'll be quick, I promise." She knotted her hands together anxiously, knowing she was treading a fine line between investigative initiative, and stupidity.

He didn't say anything so she continued.

"When I showed you that picture of Tara." Andy spoke slowly, watching closely for a reaction.

He paused slightly.

"You seemed…scared. I just…I wanted to know why that was. Did you know her?"

"You're not on duty, honey." He chuckled. "You'd better watch what you say."

Andy waited, and he said nothing.

"Please? I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't think it was you and your friends."

That made him laugh.

"Really?! Wow, toots, you're not as dumb as you look."

Andy ground her teeth together in frustration, beginning to regret coming over to talk to him.

"I usually wouldn't give you assholes the time of day. But you don't seem to be too much of an asshole. So I'll give you a little advice."

He crooked his finger and Andy leaned forward.

"Maybe if you people did your job, those kids wouldn't be dead." He whispered into her hair.

She shuddered and pulled away, not knowing what to say.

"What's your motto? 'Serve and Protect'? What a load of bullshit." He muttered. "The day I help the cops is the day I'm one of them."

He downed the rest of his beer and slapped a five dollar note on the bar and got up to leave.

He went to walk past Andy but paused, sighing loudly.

"I'll tell you what, copper; you'll want to get to 'em first before I do."

He brushed his shoulder against hers.

"Really?" she said, trying to get more information, keep him talking to her while he was still being semi-compliant. "I wouldn't pick you for the vigilante type,_ Phil_." She tried to get him to respond, using his first name.

"Well, it's not like cops are any good at it. They couldn't help twelve years ago, how the fuck could they help now?" and with that, he stormed out the door.

Andy knew it was to be expected, but she felt shaken and even more confused than before.


	4. Katie and The Detour

A/N Sorry for the late update! Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

Andy had the next day off, so she invited Traci over for cocktails and canapés in the afternoon. And by cocktails, she meant red wine from the box, and by canapés, she meant Dorito's and a jar of salsa she found hiding in the back of her pantry.

"Sorry I'm such a shitty hostess." She apologised, handing Traci another full glass of wine.

She laughed and shook her head.

"Don't worry, I like this better than any fancy little cocktail party you had planned."

Andy pulled the coffee table a little closer to the sofa so they could reach and then curled her feet underneath her.

"You got anything to watch? Any movies?" Traci asked, hopping up from her seat to inspect the empty shelves next to Andy's T.V.

"Nope," Andy spoke into her glass.

Traci pulled an old board game from the bookcase with a grin.

The two women chatted about crap over their game of battleship.

Andy couldn't remember the last time she'd been as relaxed. Finally being able to shut her mind off from work was a relief.

But her mind wasn't away from it for long.

"I'm moving in!" Traci blurted.

"No, you're not," Andy protested. "It's my turn, and I'm sinking the crap out of your air hanger."

"No!" Traci laughed. "I'm moving in with Jerry."

"Oh," Andy realised, then frowned. "I thought you were already living together." She said, taking another sip from her third glass.

"Well, yeah." She digressed. "But that was different."

"How?" Andy chuckled.

"Well this time we're actually buying a house together."

Andy's eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up.

"That's great! Aww…so like a penthouse, a loft? Some kind of suave apartment with a spinning bed?" she winked.

Traci shook her head with a smile.

"No, we want a home. Three bedrooms, at least."

Andy squinted.

"Planning for future Barber Babies, huh?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've found my person. Finally. All I want to do is live my life now."

They were silent and Traci took advantage of Andy's distraction to pack up their game.

"How do you know that Jerry is your person?" she asked finally, trying to act nonchalant.

Traci cleared her throat and pulled her legs up onto the sofa, crossing them and facing Andy.

"It was never perfect. Not in the least. It was messy, and impulsive, and it hurt a lot of the time. We both made mistakes. But…"

"But…" Andy pressed.

Traci shrugged.

"I'm so in love with him. When you find your person you just know."

Andy blinked at her.

"Seriously? You're gonna give me that cliché, Trace? Really?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

"I don't even know if we can control it. You're with this person, and you know that you couldn't change it even if you wanted to."

* * *

Switching back into work mode the next day, Andy immediately jumped on a computer and searched through missing persons.

Something Phillip Couperet said to her gelled in her mind last night. It was in the middle of the night, his words thumping in the back of her head like a percussion drum. In the middle of the noise was the clarity.

Phillip said 'they didn't help twelve years ago, why the fuck would they help now?'.

Maybe these murders have happened before.

Phillip Couperet didn't just hate the police because he was a criminal. It wasn't his default attitude like most offenders. He hated them for a much deeper reason.

Andy's heart was beating so fast she thought she was having a heart attack. She printed out the file and stapled it, trying to remain calm and collected. This wasn't the be all and end all. It might not even mean anything.

But if Sam's interest was any indication, she was onto something.

Andy walked into the detective's office with Sam on her flank, dropping the file onto Luke's desk as he had his head bent over some paper work. He looked up at her and her head inclined toward the folder full of possibilities.

Luke picked it up and examined the name.

"Katie Couperet." Andy said before he could react. "Late sister of Phillip Couperet."

She reached over him and flipped the page, overexcited.

It was a crime scene photo.

"Throat was slit, body dumped by the side of the highway. Case went cold about ten years ago, they suspected she was involved with the competition, but I think it's more than that. Luke!" she stopped suddenly, took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. "This has got to mean something."

When he pursed his lips and shook his head, she deflated, her arms dropping and her hands slapping against her thighs.

"How could this not mean something, come on, Luke! Look!" she went to flip the pages again, to prove herself.

"Andy," he swatted her hand away in frustration. "Let's just say that, hypothetically, this had something to do with Eric and Tara."

Andy nodded emphatically while Luke just held his hand up to let him continue.

"All you've done is show me an old case, possibly only making the cartel look more guilty. At the most. But that is a mere hypothetical."

"Come on, Callaghan. She took the initiative. Even if it does put guilt on Couperet, she _found it. _It can only help your case."

Luke shot Sam a glare. He handed the folder back to Andy.

"I'm not saying it's not relevant. All I'm saying is that it's not a priority—"

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Andy cut him off. "I know it's a long shot." She held her hands up in a defensive posture. "But he _said_ something—"

"What are you talking about?" Luke cut her off then, a strange look in his eye.

Rage.

"You spoke to him again? Under whose authority?!" he stood up, towering over her.

Sam grasped Andy's arm and turned her around, a similar look of incredulity on his face.

"You went to see Couperet on your own?"

Andy felt her face burning, the tension in the room was palpable. It was lucky nobody else was in the room, however, the entirety of the precinct were all staring up at them through the glass, enraptured with their argument.

"I didn't go out looking for him, okay? He was at The Penny, I just—"

"She wasn't even on shift." Luke laughed maniacally, rubbing his hands over his face and shaking his head in disbelief.

Sam's hand tightened on her arm slightly before letting go.

He didn't say anything.

Luke turned on her then, eyes blood shot, his ears red. He hadn't been sleeping.

"If you _ever_ fucking risk this investigation again by pulling a stunt like that, I will personally make sure you never work another one."

"I didn't tell him anything." She said softly.

"This isn't up to you." Luke spoke quietly, his voice laced with poorly veiled anger.

"At least she got something out of him, right? No harm, no foul." Sam interjected, trying to calm the situation despite the very obvious tension in his own voice.

"One wrong move could compromise this case in court, _if it even gets that far_." Luke ignored Sam, his eyes still trained on Andy.

Andy swallowed hard, a lump in her throat. She wasn't upset. She was angry.

"Fine." She said and fled the room, shoving the door open.

She could hear footsteps behind her, following at a similar pace. Sam.

She was nudged into one of the interrogation rooms.

Turning around to face her, Sam looked livid. He didn't even pause before he started yelling.

"What have I told you since day _one_ on this job?!"

He didn't let her answer before he continued.

"_Never ever_ follow a dangerous lead on your own!"

Andy's back hit the opposite wall, like the force of his words were enough to hold her there. She watched him with wide eyes, embarrassment, and slight confusion.

She felt like a scolded child.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a kid." she protested. "I can handle my own out in the field. It's been over two years, Sam! Come on, give me a little credit."

"This isn't just some fucking purse snatcher, McNally. This is Phillip _fucking_ Couperet. You weren't even _armed_!" he motioned to her gun belt, his chest heaving.

His raised hand went to his head, scratching the back of it.

She didn't say anything, and neither did he. They just stared at each other. His eyes never left hers and she realised the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing.

His mouth closed; his jaw clenching.

She didn't know what to say, and, as it seemed, neither did he.

Then suddenly, he looked at the floor, like he had only just realised what he'd done.

Andy took a deep breath; licked her lips.

"I'm sorry if you don't think I can hack it. But one thing you told me is that you're supposed to stick by your partner." She said, pushing off the wall. "You're supposed to back me up."

"If I remember correctly, I waited until we were out of Callaghan's office before I yelled. You're still a rookie, Andy. You're still my responsibility. If something happened to you…" he trailed off, his rage dissipating.

She bit her lip.

"I appreciate your concern." She said.

"Just…" he took a deep breath. "I don't want anything to happen to you alright?" his voice was edged with defensiveness.

She thought back to her first undercover sting, when she went on the hooker detail. Sam had said almost the exact same thing to her then.

_I don't want anything to happen to you._

He turned around then, and left her there.

Her head swam and goose bumps prickled over her skin in the wake of his tirade, his words still echoing in the room.

* * *

Becoming a detective hadn't entirely appealed to Andy at first. She didn't think she was too much like Tommy, but after this past week of obsessing over the case, she thought she might be adopting some of his qualities.

She was trying to be careful, though. She had heard about cops ruining their careers after a particular case. They can't compartmentalise. They get involved. They lose it.

Andy was holding on to reality by debriefing with Traci after work. When she got home, she read some of her book; The Time Traveller's Wife. Strictly no crime novels.

But tonight, she couldn't stop thinking about Sam. What he said. His anger.

She kept thinking that maybe she should have argued harder, or been more remorseful. He was only looking out for her, and doing it in a way that Luke never did.

She shook her head and almost slapped herself, comparing Luke and Sam like they were rivals. Although, she had to admit, its not like they were completely amicable. She wondered if they had been friends in the past. Everything got kind of foggy when she'd almost slept with Sam the night of the blackout. Then when Luke found out, the three of them were even more tense.

They were wound up tighter than piano strings whenever they got stuck in close proximity.

That disappeared after her and Sam's prisoner transfer to Sudbury. He'd told her to give Luke time to cool off. He'd basically apologised for their indiscretion, even though it was pretty much her fault.

Right now, there was nothing she valued more than Sam's friendship. She'd told him once that she'd never been real friends with a guy before. She'd risk a lot before she'd risk that.

Thinking about earlier made her stomach churn. He'd been Stoic Sam for the rest of the shift after their fight. That attitude could mean a few things, as far as Andy had observed in the past. He was either angry, guilty, or stressed.

Maybe he was all three.

She didn't want him to worry, though. And more than anything, she wanted him to trust her, to know that she could handle a guy like Couperet, or that she would have Sam's back when he needed her.

She wanted him to know that he _could_ need her…

Andy threw the romance novel onto the coffee table, as if it had offended her. Maybe all the mushy drivel was getting to her. She leaned her elbows on her knees and ran her fingers through her hair. This time of night was pretty stagnant.

Sometimes she could manage to occupy herself. But other times…

It was between getting home and going to sleep that was the worst. It was quiet and suffocating. It was either pure boredom or loneliness that made Andy feel like she couldn't breathe.

She hated being like that. This feeling of loneliness couldn't be the after math of her failed engagement to Luke. She'd been over that for months.

This breathlessness was the result of something else entirely but she wasn't ready to admit it to herself. It wasn't the presence of something, it was the absence of it.

The emptiness, it gnawed at her. The gnawing wouldn't go away. No amount of reading or television could get rid of it tonight. She plucked her keys and hand bag off the coffee table and made to leave the apartment. She pulled it open, and there was somebody there with their arm raised. She screamed.

* * *

"Damn it, Sam!" Andy threw her belongings to the ground. "You scared the hell out of me."

She spun around, trying to slow her heart beat down to a normal level.

"Sorry," he said from behind her, the sound of the door closing. "I was just about to knock."

She pressed her hand to her chest, turning back around to face him, she looked up at him through her brow, glaring.

When he didn't say anything, she dropped her hand and swallowed hard.

"You want a drink?" she went to the kitchen before he answered.

She opened the fridge as he took a seat on one of the stools lined up against the island counter.

She held up a half empty bottle of red wine and he nodded. Pulling two wine glasses out of the overhead cupboard, she emptied the bottle into both.

Sam sighed as she turned around, handing him a glass.

The dim light made his features look more defined. She tried to ignore it.

"I'm sorry about earlier." He finally confessed, taking a large swig.

She sipped slowly, almost smugly, trying to disguise her smile.

"I was out of line." He brought his hands up to the counter, fidgeting.

Normally, Sam didn't fidget. He must have felt pretty guilty to even admit fault.

"I know." Andy said softly.

"You know what? That I'm sorry or that I was out of line?"

She smirked.

"Both."

He chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged.

"Well you seem to know me pretty well by now, McNally." He went on, and she felt her stomach flutter at that comment. "It's just that…caring about people…it comes with the job."

She nodded.

"You don't have to look so sheepish, you know." She tried to comfort him. "It was stupid of me to talk to him, given how sensitive this case is. But, honestly, I didn't say anything that we wouldn't have in the interrogation room."

She stared right into his eyes, willing him to understand, to accept her actions.

She wasn't going to apologise for the result, after all. She found Katie Couperet, and even if Luke or even Sam didn't think much more of it, she definitely smelled a more complicated connection between Tara, Eric, _and_ Katie's murder.

* * *

"Claire Jorgensen _was_ getting extra money from her son. But she didn't know where it was coming from."

Andy bit into her sandwich as she listened to Sam read from his note pad, sitting on the corner of the desk. Luke was on her left, kneading a stress ball in his right hand and staring off into the distance.

Andy reach over the desk for Claire's bank statements. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

"So she was getting butt loads of cash from her son and she didn't think twice about it?" her eyebrows rose as she glanced at them both.

Sam had gotten her to play nice with Callaghan. Surprising, really, that Sam would be the one to mediate their relationship.

But it made things easier if they just grit their teeth and got on with the job.

Luke sucked in a breath, breaking from his reverie. His hand stopped squeezing the stress ball.

"She had to know it was dirty money. Did she say if he gave it to her personally, or left a fat envelope on her doorstep?" he asked.

Sam shook his head, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"He came over once a week and left it in her letterbox. She spoke to him at the door, but said he never came inside, never spoke about the money or where it came from."

Luke threw the stress ball into the trash can behind Sam.

"So, that's a dead end." He sighed.

Sam shrugged.

"She didn't say anything before because she wanted to keep the money. She's working two minimum wage jobs, she's got nothing else. Eric was looking after her." Sam added.

Andy ran her tongue over her teeth, abandoning her sandwich on the desk. She scrunched a napkin in her hand as she looked over at Luke.

"If his mother was so important to him…why didn't The Rouge Brothers take her instead?"

Luke just looked at her.

She looked to Sam and he was sharing a look with Luke. It seemed like he was trying to convince him that she had a point.

"Have you looked at Tara's bank records? Searched her house?"

"We didn't find any money." Luke muttered.

"I'm just saying," Andy held out her hands. "The fact that she was dressed up for a night on the town when she was supposed to be meeting her friends…I…" she was shaking her head, folding her arms.

"I spoke to her friends." Luke said. "They said she'd been flaky the past few weeks, always cancelling on them. Maybe she had somebody else to meet."

Andy slumped in her chair, diverting her eyes.

Maybe she'd been wrong. They had linked people together before on circumstantial evidence and been right. Maybe this was one of those times.

"Okay," she allowed. "So they were together. We still can't link them to The Rouge Brothers."

Both men were silent.

"I mean, we can't even get a warrant."

"So, we keep looking." Sam said, and Andy looked up to his smile.

* * *

"Can we take a detour?" Andy asked Luke.

Sam got piled under paperwork back at the barn, so Andy was forced to go with Luke to talk to Tara's family again, ask them if she'd been rolling in some extra cash recently.

They didn't know anything.

And now they were on their way back to the station, Andy remembered something she promised herself.

Luke looked over at her, looking blank.

"I guess." He shrugged, slowing down for a red light.

"I wanted to go see Janice Forester."

"The lady who found the bodies? She was clean." He assured her.

"No, I know. I just wanted to check up on her. It's not like we're getting anywhere today. It'll be ten minutes, tops."

He pursed his lips, looking back over at her.

"Alright."

Janice Forester's home was pretty dilapidated. She left Luke in the cruiser with the heater on full blast while she made her way up the front yard.

The weatherboard was peeling paint, and the garden was overgrown. There was a brand new treadmill sitting on the porch, though. Andy wondered if that was before the incident of finding the bodies on Key Street.

She pulled back the screen door, and knocked on the wood.

"Hello? Mrs Forester?" she knocked again.

She heard footsteps and the door knob rattled.

"Yes?"

Janice was a stark contrast to the woman she was a few days ago. Her hair in a disarray, her eyes glassy and red, she looked Andy up and down with scrutiny. She was wearing a bath robe, clutching it together with her right hand.

"Ma'am, I'm Andy McNally. I'm sorry to bother you, but I was the officer with you the day you found Eric Jorgensen."

Her eyes flashed in recognition.

Andy heard a car door slam and turned to find Luke making his way toward them. She returned her attention to the woman.

"Oh." She brushed her fingers through her greying hair.

"Come in."

Andy smiled, following her inside the house. Janice held the door open for her and Luke.

It wasn't much warmer inside the house, but it was neat and tidy. It didn't look like the outside.

"Have a seat," Janice motioned toward the living room to their left. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you." Andy said and Luke shook his head with a smile.

She nodded.

Andy and Luke sat down on the sofa. Janice took the love seat to their left, right in front of the window.

"So, what else do you need me to tell you?" she asked, knitting her fingers together.

She may have looked disheveled, but she was pretty calm and collected.

"Oh. If you've already told us everything, we don't need you to go through it again. But thank you." Andy said, leaning her forearms on her knees.

Luke stretched his long legs out, putting his arm on the back of the sofa behind Andy's head.

"Then what can I help you with, officers?" she frowned in confusion.

"I…" Andy felt awkward now, having assumed that Janice Forester would be a total mess when she actually seemed fine. "I wanted to see if you were okay. After something like that happens, we can be pretty thrown…feel…feel kind of alone."

Janice shrugged, rubbing her hands together.

"I get it. I'm fine." She shook her head, staring at the fireplace. "I know it's probably policy or something, but you don't have to babysit me." She chuckled.

Andy shook her head.

"No, of course not. It's not really policy, just…my policy." Andy smiled sympathetically.

"Well, dear, I appreciate that. You're a nice girl." She looked at Luke. "But I'm fine, I assure you."

"Okay." Andy nodded. "Anyway, we were just passing through your neighbourhood. We'll get out of your hair, then." She stood up and Luke followed suit.

Janice stood up, too.

"Thank you for coming by." She said, holding out her hand for Andy to shake.

"I must have been a real mess that day." She patted her hair down again, looking embarrassed.

"Not at all." Andy patted her shoulder.

Janice smiled.

"You're sweet. But I know how I must look. I know you saw the flask. I know you know what I am. You have that look in your eye."

Andy tried to protest.

"I would never judge you—"

"It's alright, dear." Janice murmured. "I know you wouldn't. I think you know what this addiction is like. Otherwise you wouldn't be here, right?"

Andy was a little taken aback. She kept telling herself she was sick of taking care of her dad, and here she was, doing the same thing for a stranger. It seemed to be second nature.

"My father," Andy cleared her throat. "He had the same problem. Anybody would understand if this was too hard to deal with."

She felt Luke's hand on her shoulder and didn't feel like shaking it off. This woman didn't deserve this. Perhaps she had made bad choices in the past, but she wasn't a bad person.

"You told me what happened to your son." Andy said. "I just wanted you to know that if you needed to talk, you can call me."

Andy dug in her pocket and pulled out her card with her cell number on it. Janice took it with a shaking hand.

It had been years since her son's death, and yet the grief still looked fresh on her face.

"Bless you, dear." She glanced down at it. "Andy."

She followed them to the door and closed it behind them.

Andy looked toward Luke. He stared back and there was no malice. There seemed to be some sort of admiration.

"What?" she said, shifting her feet before making her way back to the cruiser.

"Nothing," Luke said from behind her.

They got back into the car and pulled out from the kerb.

"It's just that…I'm beginning to remember what made me fall for you."

Andy's stomach flipped uncomfortably and she kept her eyes on her feet. She couldn't keep track of his mood swings.

They were almost back at the station when he spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Andy." He confessed. "I'm sorry for everything."

_Whoah…_

She swallowed hard, her head swimming.

"Luke," she laughed humourlessly. "Don't…"

"I didn't treat you right. I really fucked up and I never really apologised properly."

"Luke, it's fine, really—"

"No, Andy. I've been jumping down your throat lately. I guess it's just the pressure of this case…and working with you again after so long. And Swarek."

Andy glared at him.

"What about Swarek?"

Luke pulled the car into the lot, killing the engine.

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Andy. Please." Luke turned his body to face her fully, leaning his arm on the steering wheel.

Andy was incredulous.

"Then tell me what you mean." She retorted.

He slammed his hand on the wheel in frustration and she jumped. She stared at him and shook her head, opening her door.

"Andy," he said. "Wait."

She slammed the door on Luke Callaghan for good.


	5. An Education

A/N Just because I haven't done it yet, despite it being obvious; these characters do not belong to me! PS; I'm Australian, so words like color, and rumor, are spelled colour, and rumour in my country (just so you don't think I'm bad at spelling). Plus, the locations (i.e. street names) I've used thus far have been made up, so if I describe something that doesn't actually exist in Toronto, it's only because I have a fabulous imagination! Enjoy, and review!

* * *

Andy came storming through the station, pulling her jacket off as she went. Even if what Luke said was true, he was in no position to comment. She could practically _feel_ the rage slithering through her veins, like hot needles.

She caught Sam's eye as he was leaning over Oliver to point at something on the computer monitor. He must have noticed her anger, his eyes following her. Andy turned the corner and slipped into the locker room. It was the end of shift and she actually couldn't wait to get away from this place.

But, unfortunately, Sam had to be typical Sam. He had to be all concerned and protective, and just wonderful. And he had to just appear out of nowhere as Andy left the locker room.

"Not now, Sam." She held her hand up, palm facing his chest.

He looked down at her hand, then at her face.

"What's going on, you look like 'grumpy cat'." Sam tried to hide his smirk.

Andy shook her head, tried to give him a smile and a roll of her eyes but as usual, he saw through the façade. His smile fell and he nudged her shoulder with his knuckles.

"Seriously, what's up?"

She shook her head, took a deep breath and drew a blank. Telling Sam that Luke was being inappropriate seemed counterproductive. Somehow she knew the result wouldn't be good.

So she just shrugged.

"It's been a long day," she wasn't lying. "I'm just tired."

Sam nodded empathetically and she didn't know if he was buying the cover.

"Well the bags under your eyes are as big as Vince Vaughan's, so…"

Andy slapped his arm and he chuckled.

"I thought you said that men find that attractive?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"They do," he answered seriously. "I'm actually quite attracted to Vince."

That got a laugh out of Andy and she could almost ignore Luke as he walked purposefully past them. His eyebrow rose on one side, and glanced between them pointedly, as if proving a point.

Andy's blood began to boil again so she bid Sam adieu and fled the station.

* * *

Andy had picked out a new novel to read. She bought it at a thrift store on the way to work one morning a couple of months ago. It was about the only thing that sat inside the draw of her nightstand, collecting dust.

It was called, 'The Red Herring' and was easily becoming Andy's favourite.

The protagonist was a young girl called Violet who left a broken home and spent her life working on a fishing boat searching for a species of fish that was thought to be extinct; the red herring. She makes dozens of stops and at each one meets a person (some of them are nice and amazing and some of them are just awful human beings) who tries to teach her something about life. Each time, she is encouraged to stay in that place, but argues that she has another purpose; to find the red herring.

Violet's memories were kind of abstract, though. All the descriptions of these people are bizarre, like they're a distant memory and not an immediate recall.

Andy was about half way through the book, and Violet was on the brink of a discovery. She was snorkelling just off the edge of a reef. She saw something reflect the sunlight through the water and went to investigate.

The words weren't registering to Andy. She loved the book, but sometimes real life seeped back into her conscious and none of the words would sink in. Instead of a fishing boat, or a tropical reef, she pictures the soggy grass field where Eric and Tara were found.

And to make it even worse, Katie Couperet was now a large part of these visions. There were only a few pictures of her in the case file, but Andy's mind couldn't help but create this animation of her, a fabricated memory.

She pictured Katie, but worse still, she pictured the life Katie never got. She pictured Katie living Violet's life. Violet seemed so free to pursue a purpose.

But Katie would never do that. Katie was gone and so were Eric and Tara.

Pain. So much pain. So much loss.

It was that time of night again, where everything went quiet and static and it was just her, alone, like Violet on her boat.

She decided to let her head rest so she turned in for the night. She gave up on her book and left it on the coffee table.

She tried to comfort herself as she pulled the covers up to her chest. She remembered Janice, and her words. Andy wished she could be that kind of person, but without the vice. Janice obviously had flaws, but what drew her apart from the rest of mankind was that she never tried to make excuses.

Janice knew that Andy knew about her alcoholism.

She'd just relived possibly the worst experience of her life; seeing Eric's body would have sent memories from her son's death flooding back in.

But she was sober. She was clean, and forgiving, and strong. Andy figured Janice was stronger than her. Janice was a fighter.

Andy was afraid of the silence.

* * *

Andy tried to figure out if she should act congenial with Luke again, or ignore him. What he said to her the day before was completely inappropriate.

He tended to do that, even when they were together. He made assumptions and asked the question accusingly.

She didn't ponder too much about why she was so offended by his words, and why she felt a strong urge to protect whatever she did, or choices she made, from Luke.

He lost the privilege to have an opinion about her life.

It felt like an injustice to herself if she let him make her feel guilty, like she'd done something wrong. The elephant in the room was Sam, and she was afraid to acknowledge why she was so defensive about what Luke said.

He'd implied that she and Sam were together, or sneaking around. He'd said that he was on edge because of her, the case, _and Sam_. That little inflection he made on Sam's name could only mean that he was in love with him, or that he hated him.

Only one of those scenarios was possible.

She strutted with faux confidence into the parade room the next morning.

Frank came in as usual, listing the day's duties, as usual.

Oliver made a joke, and Frank rebutted it with a sarcastic quip.

Everything seemed normal with everybody else.

This made Andy feel selfish. All these people were probably dealing with their own problems and yet they could manage to not let it affect them at work.

Noelle was heavily pregnant, exhausted and stuck on desk duty. Frank was stressing about Noelle and the baby. Dov was having issues with his girlfriend and her family. Gail and Nick were sharing tense discussions around the station all the time, and rumour had it that Oliver had been kicked out of his house by his wife, Zoe.

There wasn't a person around her that wasn't having a tough time, but they were all getting through it, and so should she.

It just seemed easier to think about it than to actually do it, especially when she met up with Luke and Sam in the Detective's office.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass and noticed she looked incredibly tired. She couldn't sleep last night, thinking about the bodies in the field and how Violet still hadn't found what she was looking for.

She noticed Sam in the reflection, watching her over her shoulder. She looked away.

He had been easy enough to fool yesterday, but now he sensed the tension in the room. These two men were like fucking barometers. Any change of mood and they were aware of it, scoping each other with squinted eyes.

Sam was watching Luke with an amount of focus reserved for lions stalking gazelles.

To be honest, she'd rather be out on her own today. That way she wouldn't have to talk to either of them.

But of course she wouldn't be able to work by herself, especially in a homicide investigation. Things were just never that easy.

So she got lumped with Sam again for the day, the lesser of two evils. Surprisingly, he didn't ask what was up between her and Luke. He remained quiet about the matter even after they got into the squad car. They had a lead on the case. A friend of Tara's that they hadn't interviewed yet.

* * *

"So, what can you tell us about her?"

Rita was a slight, young woman, the same age as Tara. She was blonde and beautiful, but her eyes were grey and sad. The tip of her nose was red and her eyes were watery as she prepared to speak. They were in her house and her parents were sat on the sofa in the living room, just a few feet away from the dining table where Sam, Andy, and Rita were talking.

"She was my best friend," she sobbed, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "But I didn't even know she was dead until yesterday."

Andy looked at Sam in shock.

"We're sorry for your loss, Rita." Sam said softly. "Was there any reason you found out so late?"

She was nodding.

"Her parents don't like me." She sniffed, her expression changing to anger. "We weren't seeing each other because they think I'm a bad influence."

"Why would they think that, Rita?" Andy asked.

Rita shook her head, glanced at her parents in guilt, and took in a deep breath.

"I…we did some weed once in a while…"

Andy nodded.

"Was there anything else? It's okay. You can tell us."

She rubbed her lips together.

"Sometimes some pills." She confessed. "There was one time we did coke, but that was it. Just the once."

Her eyes were wide, tears streaming down her pink cheeks.

"Her mother found a joint in her hand bag. A couple of months back." She laughed humourlessly. "She was so mad. She gave Tara a curfew and told her she could never see me again. It was so fucked up. She's nineteen, for Christ's sake. She wasn't a kid."

"Had you seen her since that happened?" Sam pressed. "Is there anything you can tell us about her murder?"

Her eyes welled with more tears and she squeezed them shut.

"Um," her voice shook. "They say she went missing on the Tuesday, right? Well…" she blinked hard.

"She said she was going to ditch her friends and come party with me. I thought her mom found out and she couldn't come."

She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Rita, did Tara have a boyfriend that she kept hidden from her parents and her other friends?"

Rita looked around, back at her parents, at Sam, at Andy, down to her feet, then back at Andy.

"There was this one guy she was interested in."

Andy's heart sunk. Now it seems that it's more likely that Tara knew Eric. Her theories just got flushed down the drain.

"Do you know his name?" Sam piped up.

Andy was speechless.

"It was something like Rick, or Ricky."

"Could that be a nickname for 'Eric?'" Sam asked.

Rita shrugged.

"I guess so. Why?"

Andy shared a look with Sam.

"Tara's body was found a few feet away from another victim. We believe they both knew each other."

"Oh my God…" Rita breathed.

"Is there anything else you know about Rick?" Andy finally found her voice.

"I don't know," Rita shook her head. "All I know is that she was seeing this guy. Other than that…" she shrugged, looking lost and helpless.

Sam nodded solemnly. Andy took Rita's hand.

"We're going to need you to come down to the station and give us a formal statement."

* * *

Andy let Luke and Sam handle Rita. She knew she was being silly, but she was just in shock. She had been so sure about it all. It had been an instinct, and her instinct had been wrong.

She went to sulk at her desk when she saw Luke and Sam escorting Rita out of the interrogation room. She was crying again, and her mother put her arm around her shoulders, taking her away.

Andy hoped that Rita stopped taking drugs. She hoped that she could move past this, and live a life that her friend never will. Sam came over to her then.

"You alright?"

Andy pressed her lips together, trying to quash all her feelings into a tiny box in the back of her mind.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I guess I was wrong about Tara and Eric. I guess she wasn't the person we thought she was. I guess The Rouge Brothers did do this."

Sam nodded sympathetically.

"I guess so." He smiled sadly.

"Listen, if you're up to it, we've got another job." He waved a folder in his hand.

Andy nodded and stood up, straightening her belt around her hips.

"So, what have we got?" she held her hands out for it as they made their way back outside.

It was past noon already and Andy was starving. Her stomach grumbled uncomfortably as they got back into the cruiser.

"The money that Claire had gotten from Eric had risen by about five hundred dollars every week, in the last month." Sam was saying, as Andy flipped open the folder he gave her.

"The Rouge Brothers aren't really known for their generosity," Andy frowned.

"Yeah, they're not the type to be giving out pay rises, or Christmas bonuses." Sam agreed.

Andy was looking down at her notepad, confused.

"Wait, so you think Eric was ripping them off and giving the extra to his mom?"

"Could be. We're gonna pay her a visit to see what she's got to say about it."

"I wish we could just talk to the brothers about it." She sighed, watching the traffic outside her window.

"Yeah, well, even if we could tie the murders to them, they would never tell us anything."

Andy hummed in agreement.

Silence fell and Andy immediately knew what would follow. The fucking Spanish Inquisition.

"So…" he began.

"Ughhh! Sam, can we just not talk about it?"

Silence.

"I just want to help. If there's something wrong, Andy…I don't want you to think you're alone." He cleared his throat as Andy looked up at him. "I mean…we're partners, right?"

"It's just this case. I'll be fine." And she left it at that.

The good thing about Sam was that he knew when not to push the subject.

* * *

As it turned out, Claire Jorgenson knew nothing. Of course. She'd been secretive from the beginning, but Andy believed her when she said she didn't know if he was stealing from his employers.

However, the extra money did make it quite possible that Luke's theory for motive was correct. The Rouge Brothers found out Eric was stealing from them and took Tara hostage to get Eric to bring them their money back.

They killed her slowly, and when Eric finally arrived, they killed him, too.

"I just don't understand why he didn't bring the money with him to save his girlfriend."

Andy was leaning against the wall outside the locker room. Sam had just met her there. He wore a tight black t-shirt and leather jacket. She liked that jacket a little too much.

She had her arms folded in front of her as they talked.

"Maybe he did. We'll never know what the total amount was that he earned, or stole. You saw that stash he had under his bed."

She looked at him and he looked at her.

"You wanna go to The Penny?" he motioned to the doors.

Andy considered it, and thought it would be a thousand times better than sitting at home, reading about Violet and her fruitless pursuit, and trying to quell the anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

"Sure."

* * *

"Andayyyy!" Nick dragged out her name, calling out from one of the back tables.

He held up his beer in joy, a huge grin on his face. Andy waved to him and looked back at Sam. He was nonchalant, motioned with his hand to choose somewhere to sit.

She wanted Sam's company, but she didn't want him to know she was struggling with things lately; her personal life, the case…

The best way to keep him from asking questions was to involve a drunk person. So she made her way over to Nick's table and took a seat. Sam stopped at the bar first and she paused, mouthing a question at him from her seat: 'You buying?'

He nodded, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket.

Andy unraveled her scarf and chuckled as Nick reached over and gave her a one-armed hug.

"Where's Gail?" she asked, pulling off her jacket.

He looked at the empty chair next to him, looking surprised.

"Oh…uh…bathroom!" he pointed his thumb in the right direction.

Andy shook her head, laughing.

Sam arrived then, two beers in hand.

"How's it going, Collins?" he smirked, sitting down and taking a pull of his beer.

Nick waved his hand vaguely.

"Lady troubles? Is Peck giving you a hard time?"

He saluted Sam, indicating he was right.

Sam and Andy looked at each other and tried not to laugh.

Gail appeared then, with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. She wasn't as drunk as Nick, though. Andy heard the door of The Penny open again, a blast of icy air blowing in.

She heard Oliver's and Luke's voices float through, getting louder as they approached.

A hand landed on her shoulder and let go. Oliver came around Sam's side and took the seat to his right.

"How's it going, brother?" he patted Sam on the shoulder.

"Not bad," Sam replied.

Andy zoned out of their small talk when Luke leaned between her and Sam to pass a drink to Oliver.

His hand brushed Andy's arm and he moved around her to take the seat to her left.

Andy grit her teeth, knowing what Luke was trying to do. Maybe he was jealous, maybe he was just bitter. Maybe he never wanted her to be happy!

But he was intent on making Andy uncomfortable, which Sam noticed. Andy really hoped that Sam wouldn't react. Not only would it make it harder for the three of them to work on the case together, but it would give Luke satisfaction. If Sam reacted, Luke would think he was right. Luke would think Sam had something for her.

This, she didn't believe. She only knew that Sam was her friend, and partner, and even though they're not involved that way, he'd defend her just because he's a good person.

He cared about her. Just like if somebody hurt him she'd break some balls and kick some ass.

To be honest, she'd wanted to kill Jamie Brennan after what he did to Sam.

That's what it was like being a cop. Luke was trying to make it into something it wasn't. He got some kind of pleasure out of making things tense between the three of them. The old Luke would have avoided this type of confrontation at any cost.

So when he slung his arm over the back of Andy's chair, she cringed and did her best not to even glance at her partner. She was afraid of what she'd see.

So she pretended not to notice and downed her beer in one go. Sam had already finished his. Gail, Nick, and Oliver were talking about some kind of team sport while their half of the table sat in awkward silence.

Luke decided he'd push it, gently brushing his fingers against her shoulder, like he used to when they were together.

Andy stood up.

"This round is on me." She said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

She escaped to the sanctuary of the bar and sat on one of the stools, letting her head fall to her hands. Her stomach churned and this was a mistake.

"Ugh, why won't you just stop playing these games?!" she growled as Luke approached her at the bar. "I thought you said you were sorry about treating me like crap?"

The frustration was boiling over and she could feel her eyes stinging.

She turned away so their table was out of view.

"What games?" he asked innocently, touching her hair.

That sent her over the edge.

"_Fuck off!_" she held up her hand in warning, staring daggers at him.

Before he could say anything or do anything else, she stalked back over to the table, grabbed her jacket and purse, and flew out the door.

She hailed a cab as soon as she made it outside, the chill already biting at her cheeks.

The taxi pulled up at the curb and she hopped in.

* * *

The next morning, Luke was in Frank's office.

Andy took a seat at her desk. Noelle came waddling over to her suddenly.

"Hey, McNally," she said, throwing her squad keys at her. "We got a call from St. Mary's Catholic school, somebody stole their beaver."

Andy frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"Their mascot, the Beaver, somebody stole the costume. We gotta go check it out."

Andy scrutinized her superior with hesitation.

"Is Frank okay with—"

"I can take care of myself, my baby daddy is _not_ my freakin' keeper!" she huffed. "Okay? Now, let's go. It's an easy job, I'll be fine."

Andy made a face, apologising.

"It's okay. I know how I must look at the moment." Noelle rubbed her belly.

Andy pulled herself up and stood before her superior.

"You look beautiful." she said honestly.

"You tying to kiss my ass?" she asked suspiciously, taking a step back and narrowing her eyes.

Andy laughed.

"I'm just complimenting you, ma'am. I haven't had the chance to congratulate you for being enough of a hard ass to still be working this far into your pregnancy."

Noelle spun on her heel and Andy followed her out to the parking lot. She drove; Noelle couldn't fit comfortably behind the wheel.

It took a moment to get in and when Andy waited, looking at her pointedly as if asking if she was okay, Noelle rolled her eyes and yanked her seat belt on.

"Come on, we don't have all day, McNally."

Pulling out onto the street, Andy caught sight of Sam in his truck, going in the opposite direction. He was late for work.

Maybe he hooked up last night.

Andy tried not to think about it. After all, that wasn't her business.

"So, maybe you'll get a chance to scope this place out as a future school for the little one." Andy suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"God, no. I'd rather have the kid learning to read off the back of a cereal box than send them to these places full of preppy school bitches. They shove a pole up your ass the moment you get in there."

Andy chuckled.

"So, no to private education?"

"No to private education." Noelle agreed with a smirk. "With my genes, and Frank's, this kid is gonna be enough of a smart ass."

Andy slowed down for the red light.

"I can't wait til she's out, though." Noelle whined, shifting in her seat.

"How long have you got now?" Andy asked, taking off at the green light.

"About—MCNALLY!"

Andy jumped and barely had time to look at what was coming for them.

There were screeching tires, a deafening smash, metal against metal, glass windows popping under the pressure.

Andy's body jolted to the right with a sickening force.

The car barreled forward and jumped, running up the curb and hitting something hard. Everything felt like it was spinning, but when Andy forced her eyes open she saw they'd come to a stop. The hood was wrapped around a light pole.

A wrecked red Mercedes stood a few feet away from the hood of their cruiser.

The world spun around her.

"Ugh!" Andy groaned in pain and confusion.

The sun glinted in streams through the webbed glass of the windscreen.

Shaking her head, she tried to focus, turning her head to Noelle.

"Noelle! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" she un-clicked her seat belt.

Smoke rose from under the hood.

The chill of the morning bathed them, their breath coming out in clouds.

"Oh, God." Noelle breathed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.

"Talk to me, come on." Andy leaned closer, checking her vitals, probing her belly and taking her hand.

There didn't seem to be much damage on Noelle's side of the car. Andy's door was slightly caved in.

She reached for her radio, pulling it closer to her mouth as she spoke frantically into the receiver.

_Dispatch, this is Officer McNally! I've got a 10-78 here on the corner of Smith and King's Street. I repeat, a 10-78, officer in need of medical assistance. We've been in a traffic collision; one civilian vehicle involved. Get a rush on that ambulance._

"Andy," Noelle was gasping suddenly, eyes wide. She squeezed Andy's hand in a vice grip.

"My water just broke."


	6. The Red Mercedes

A/N Disclaimer: These characters and the show they come from are in now way mine. They belong to somebody else. A genius.

That was a pretty mean cliffhanger, wasn't it? Yeah, sorry about that. So, did everybody see the new Rookie Blue trailer for season four? OMG. So excited! Here is something to tide you over until May 23rd!

* * *

"Are you sure?" Andy asked, frantically, her free hand shaking while Noelle squeezed the other one even tighter.

She shot her a searing glare.

"I'm soaked. I'm pretty fucking sure." She growled. "Not to mention the _pain!" _she dragged out the last word and simultaneously clenched Andy's hand to mimic her agony.

"Fuck," Andy whispered, wide-eyed and _very_ aware.

She could hear sirens in the distance and it calmed her slightly.

"It's okay, we're gonna get you out, and you're gonna be fine."

"No…" she cried, tears streaming. "I'm scared, McNally."

"Noelle, I never thought I'd see the day. Come on," she was being brave here, ordering her pregnant-and in-labour superior to toughen up.

"You can do this. You're gonna have your baby in a hospital, and it's going to hurt but it's gonna be awesome." She assured her, grasping her shoulder gently.

"What if I can't do this?" she whispered, staring up at Andy.

She'd never seen Noelle so vulnerable. There was something so afraid in her deep brown eyes, so fragile. But she also knew the real Noelle. The real Noelle was strong.

"You _can_ do this. Just hold on. The ambulance is coming." She looked up through the windscreen and saw people rushing over to their aid.

A young man, probably in his thirties, stumbled out of the red Mercedes, clutching a gash on his forehead. Blood dribbled through his fingers. They got to him first, as he hunched over the hood of his car. They helped him to sit down on the ground.

The whole scene looked surreal, and messy.

It looked like a Salvador Dali painting with the melting clocks; everything was broken and misshapen.

Noelle whimpered; squeezing her eyes shut.

"They're almost here," Andy told her, searching the street for more emergency vehicles. "You're gonna have a baby today!"

Noelle nodded, trying to slow her breathing.

Andy felt a stinging on her scalp, reaching a hand up to examine it out of instinct. She hissed quietly, bringing her hand back covered in blood.

It didn't seem too bad but she felt trails of warmth coursing down her neck. More blood. Head wounds tended to bleed a lot, though. She reckoned she probably looked worse than she really was.

Noelle, on the other hand.

"How far apart are your contractions?" she asked softly, calmly. "Are they getting too close together?"

"They're about nine minutes in between." She murmured, her eyes still closed.

She groaned then.

"Another contraction?"

Noelle shook her head.

"The first time I go out in the field in months and I'm in a freakin' car accident. Jesus. What are the odds?"

Andy smiled.

"I don't know the odds, all I know is that you went out into the field after months and you _survived_ a car accident."

Noelle chuckled, rubbing her belly and sucking in slow breaths.

A police cruiser was the first on the scene. Andy knew who would be among them, too. Whom would fly out of the station at a moment's notice.

"Noelle!" Dov and Oliver exclaimed at once, hopping out of their cars and running over.

Their boots crunched on the glass as they approached.

"I'm alright," Noelle tried to assure them.

Oliver pulled his cell phone out, dialling a number and covering the mouth piece with his hand.

"Don't move her." Oliver told Dov as he tried to reach through the window.

He nodded and grasped Noelle's hand.

Oliver put his attention back on his phone call.

Anything he said was obscured by more sirens. But Noelle started crying and Oliver looked emotional as he spoke on the phone, stepping back and making his way over to Andy's side as he snapped it shut. She watched him circle the car.

Another patrol car pulled up right next to Oliver's.

_Sam._

He watched her the moment he got out of his car, running toward them. Andy didn't let go of Noelle's hand.

She leaned back in her seat as Sam reached through the shattered window and cupped her cheek.

"You alright?" his voice was stiff.

"I'm fine. I'm alright." She nodded, revelling in the feel of his hand against her skin.

"What the hell happened?" he asked breathlessly, scanning the wreckage as if it weren't obvious.

"Red Mercedes. T-boned us at the intersection." She shook her head and tried not to let her guilt overcome her. "I should have paid more attention. I didn't even see him coming."

"He ran a red light?" Sam asked, motioning his head to the other injured driver.

Andy nodded.

"It's not your fault, McNally." Oliver cleared his throat, sticking his thumbs in his belt and looking away.

He saw the redness in his eyes.

She looked back at Noelle as some EMTs were rushing over. Another came around the wrecked car to Andy's side.

One of them pushed Sam out of the way and moved to examine her. His hand dropped from her face and clenched at his side. She watched as he backed off, turned around and stood rigidly with his back turned to her for a moment. He brought his hand up and appeared to rub it over his face. He glanced back at her and gave her a tense smile as the EMT took her vitals and probed her skull.

She watched him stride over to the other driver who had a young EMT place an oxygen mask over his face as he was slumped against his back wheel.

"Oliver," she called and he came closer, wedging in next to the medic.

He reached in and gave her hand a squeeze.

Her other hand was held by Noelle, and Noelle's other hand, by Dov; a chain of camaraderie.

Andy watched as Dov tried to calm Noelle down, doing a better job than she had. His green eyes were watery, but his smile triumphed over his face. Noelle had her head turned to him, focused on him but her hand remained tight on Andy's.

* * *

Andy watched Noelle get carted away on a stretcher as Frank rushed alongside, distraught. That's what Oliver must have been doing on the phone; letting Frank know. A fireman tried prising Andy's door open while her medic was kneeling on Noelle's seat, holding her oxygen mask on, and keeping pressure on her head wound.

Andy wondered who they would have called for her, if they'd called anyone. Off the top of her head, who would she want them to call first? If this was her last day…who's face would she want to be the last one she'd see?

The fire and rescue personnel managed to get the door off, but everything was getting hazy to Andy. The knock to her head really threw her for six. Everything really was starting to look like a surrealist painting. Glowing and stretching before her.

The shock must have kept her going before when she was comforting Noelle. Now that she was taken care of, she could feel herself slipping on the slope of consciousness, waiting for the waves to drag her under.

She imagined it running under her feet, her knees buckling as she was fading in and out of blackness which was not at all unpleasant.

Arms lifted her up and she felt a stretcher beneath her. The shock of movement jolted her back into a more lucid state.

The sun blinded her until a figure obscured it.

"You're gonna be fine," he said. "Just a bump on the head."

"You don't sound very reassuring, Samuel."

Nobody ever called him that. She wasn't even sure that it was his real name, or if he was purely Sam.

Oliver appeared next to him, and she felt his hand on her forehead.

"You scared?" he asked.

"Yeah," she confessed. "You?"

He shook his head, his bottom lip jutting out as if he was indifferent.

"I'm not scared." His voice cracked, but he kept shaking his head then looked her directly in the eye.

"Cause we're both going home today, McNally."

* * *

"Come on, Traci." Andy tried to persuade her friend. "I took a day off work already, now let me in. I want to get back to work."

Andy was locked in a standoff with Traci at the entrance to the locker rooms.

"You didn't really. You took the rest of your shift off after the accident yesterday. Do you have permission from your doctor?" she squinted suspiciously.

"Traci," Andy rolled her eyes. "It was just a concussion, I feel fine. I have work to do. Please."

Traci's jaw moved, like she was grinding her teeth.

But she finally relented, standing aside. Andy grinned and kissed her on the cheek as she passed.

Undressing, she examined the side of her body that was closest to the impact the day before. She had a fresh bruise on her upper arm and elbow; a few bruises down her ribs and her hip. It could have been a lot worse.

Especially now that Noelle was mother to a beautifully healthy baby girl. Andy smiled at the memory of visiting Noelle in her hospital room, getting to hold her daughter.

Not everything ended badly.

Yeah, maybe she was a little worse for wear, but shit happened. Andy was just grateful that they both got out of it unscathed…mostly.

Save for the major headache she had last night, and the softer version of it she had this morning, she was ready to get back to the case.

That is until Sam ambushed her just outside the locker room.

"Sam, relax." She said before he opened his mouth.

She started walking toward the equipment room to get her gun belt, Sam following her like a shadow.

She felt him put his hand on her back. Andy turned around to face him and his hands came to her face, cradling it.

"Sam." She whispered, the déjà vu so strong she thought she'd travelled back in time.

The first time she got shot, Sam acted the exact same way. He was quiet, concerned, but when they were alone he adopted this strange intensity that stirred something deep inside of her.

Like she was the only thing that existed, the only thing that was important.

It was this look in his eyes that made her stop for a moment. It made a certain feeling rise to the surface. They were still, silent, and consumed.

The only time his eyes broke away from hers was when he glanced at her lips and she was afraid and so excited.

The door opened and the trance was broken. Sam dropped his hands and Gail entered, looking amused.

"Oh, sorry," she half-whispered.

But she wasn't sorry, because she continued to gather her things and prepare for her shift as Andy stood there, blushing and quivering while Gail grinned like a fucking Cheshire cat.

"Sorry to interrupt," she commented, pausing as she passed them on her way out.

"You've got lipstick on your teeth." Andy snapped, annoyed with the interruption, but also sobered by it.

This wasn't the time or place. They both just got a little overcome. Sam seemed to snap out of it, too, shaking his head slightly, and smiling at Andy's comment.

A fire was lit that quickly got extinguished. Things were normal now, and they both got back to work in a daze.

* * *

"Why don't we ask the informant? The one that squealed on The Rouge Brothers in the first place? I mean, I know they didn't find any damning evidence, but maybe the informant met Eric? Tara?"

Luke was rubbing his temples with his elbows leaning on his desk. Sam was perched on Jerry's desk, watching and listening.

Andy was in an office chair, swivelling around as she rattled off ideas to the both of them. She knew Sam wouldn't be totally against it. Luke was the tough nut to crack when it came to following leads.

Luke was already shaking his head. He seemed to do that too often whenever Andy voiced her opinion.

"We can't just dig out a name from our records and find him in witness protection. He's gone, Andy. That's it. We can't get him back, even if we tried."

She pursed her lips, scrounging for something else.

"The guy that hit you yesterday has court next month. He was charged. Just so you know." Sam said.

Andy stopped swivelling.

"Oh…right."

The crook in the red Mercedes. He'd managed to seep into her dreams last night. She'd been foggy from the pain killers she'd gotten after the accident. It only made the dreams more bizarre and vivid. In the dreams she heard Noelle scream. In one of them, Katie was sat next to her. In the next one, Eric was driving the Mercedes. She tried to help Katie. She tried to help Tara. But they bled. Their blood covered Andy, and Eric kept distracting her.

Andy focused on her colleagues, then.

Luke looked at her.

She craned her neck and rolled her shoulders, stretching and releasing the memories.

"I guess I forgot about him." She sighed, plucking a paper clip off the desk and unwinding it.

She realised she'd adopted that habit off of Sam.

"You don't think he's involved in this case, do you?" she looked up suddenly, struck by the realisation.

"No. He was a nobody. Drunk, actually."

"So, just some idiot could have killed me…_and Noelle_…and it was just…an accident?"

Sam nodded, watching her carefully.

She laughed mirthlessly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That's fucked up. We could be gone in an instant."

Andy paused, realising the morbidity of her comment.

She glanced up at Luke who was watching her the same way Sam was and she grew uncomfortable.

"Is there anything else we can follow up on today?" she diverted their attention off her and back onto the case.

"Not right now," Luke let out a long breath.

"You can get back to normal work for today." He took another deep breath and refocused his attention on his computer, clicking his mouse. "I'll let you know if anything comes up."

Andy clapped her hands together and stood up. She'd take this opportunity. She was tired of second guessing herself. She went to search through old case files, specifically murders of young women killed by knife wounds to the neck.

If there was any ounce of accuracy to her theories, she had to find out now so she could pursue it more vigorously, or forget about it completely.

Andy kept her eyes down as Sam walked past. Her mind kept catapulting back to this morning with Sam, how he'd looked at her. She could have screwed everything up; what if they'd done something and could never go back?

Andy promised herself she wouldn't jeopardise their friendship, especially after the blackout incident.

She felt there was too much at stake if things went wrong between them. Ignoring it was just easier. She let her feelings fade into the background like she was smothering them underwater, they diluted and disappeared. For now.

Work was easier this way; she could focus.

She plucked at the keyboard, never having been very good at typing. Andy entered the phrases; "carotid artery", "murder", "female".

A plethora of results showed up of women ranging in age between the early teens to mid-eighties. Andy gnawed at her bottom lip, starting again, and refining her search to Toronto.

Tara Hunter's name popped up at the start of the list.

"McNally!" Frank called, poking his head out the door of his office.

Her head shot up like she'd been caught doing something unbecoming.

"Yes, sir?"

He motioned with his head for her to come in. She bit her lip and decided to print off the page of results, grabbing it on the way to Frank's office, folding it up and shoving it into her pants pocket.

She hopped up the steps and ran her hand along the guard rail leading to the glass room. Frank leaned against his desk, his arms folded. Usually he sat behind his desk, in his office chair like it was a throne.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked, letting the door close behind her.

He pressed his lips together, looking at up at her through his lashes.

Andy watched as he dropped his arms, held them open and strode towards her. She stared, unblinkingly, at the wall behind his shoulder, speechless.

"Um," she slowly hugged him back, a little awkwardly, with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

His arms engulfed her as he squeezed her tight and whispered 'thank you' over and over again.

When he pulled back, he quickly turned his head away, clearing his throat.

"Thank you for looking after Noelle yesterday." He managed to croak out.

"Sir, it was nothing. We all do what we have to do. I did what anybody down there would have done." She glanced at the swarm of officers bustling around the station behind them.

Frank was nodding.

"But I thank you anyway. I'm happy that, even if I wasn't there, that a fine officer like you was."

"Thank you." Andy nodded, letting his words warm her.

He turned around then, shuffling paper on his desk.

"Oh, I forgot, Shaw and Diaz need more bodies for their traffic op. Officer Nash called in sick this morning."

"Oh," Andy frowned.

That's not like Traci. She hoped everything was okay with Leo.

"Take Peck with you." He added as she made her way out.

She spotted the blonde officer feeding coins into the vending machine.

"Gail," Andy tapped her shoulder as she passed. "We got a traffic op with Shaw and Diaz."

"Okay, but you're buying Oliver lunch. I'm tapped out." She shook her hand full of change to emphasise.

Andy laughed and rolled her eyes, waiting for Gail to follow.

* * *

The cold air hit them like a brick wall once they got out of the cruiser. Gail swore, slamming the car door. They made their way over to the line of traffic cones where Oliver and Chris were performing breathalyzer tests and licence checks on passing motorists.

Dov was standing in the middle of the road, flagging down random cars to pull up.

Andy carried some gourmet burgers from a place called _The Burger's Priest_ near Queen and Coxwell.

All three of them watched Gail and Andy approach with a smile, and when they noticed they brought food, the smiles turned into grins.

"How you doin', McNally?" Oliver asked, his hand diving into the bag immediately.

"I'm okay. How many busts you get today?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation from turning to yesterday's events.

Chris took his turn as Oliver took a huge bite out of his lunch, moving his head from side to side.

"About seven so far." He said with his mouth full, wiping some sauce off his chin.

He paused, examining the food.

"There are no pickles, I assure you." She held up her hand.

Dov came jogging over.

"You guys are God-sends," he said, grabbing the last burger, and a coke from Gail.

She stared at him as he took a sip.

"Well, Andy is, at least."

Gail punched him in the arm.

They let the boys finish then got back to work. Andy and Gail joined Oliver and Chris while Dov controlled the traffic, flagging down four at a time.

Andy was at the very end, and she pretended Oliver didn't put her there so he could keep an eye on her. Being coddled made her uncomfortable. She only put up with it because she also knew that she'd behave the same way if it were one of them in that car yesterday.

A shiny black BMW pulled up and she motioned for the driver to lower the window. She leaned down to talk and her breath caught in her throat.

"Afternoon, Officer."

Andy swallowed hard.

"Mr. Couperet." She nodded.

"This is just a random breath test to examine your level of blood alcohol," she rattled off the script she used on everyone. "When I tell you to, I'll get you to blow in the mouth piece until I tell you to stop. Okay?"

He nodded as she held it up to his face and he blew. He was clean.

"Any progress on that case, sweetheart?" his eyebrows rose.

She glanced at her colleagues. They were unaware.

"I can't discuss that with you, sir." She fiddled with the breathalyzer machine.

She looked at Phillip and she saw the resemblance between him and his sister. She shuddered, but not from the cold. Katie's eyes were as deep and dark as her brother's but not as haunted. They shared the same hair colour, as dark as their eyes.

Andy knew she should fear Phillip Couperet, but couldn't. Maybe there was a huge glitch in her brain; the instinct that warned normal people against danger. Perhaps that wire was loose in her brain. Nevertheless, she remained passive as Phillip scrutinised her.

"I heard about a little accident you were involved in yesterday; should you be at work?"

Andy was about to ask how he knew, and let the words die on her tongue. Phillip probably had a finger in every pie in this city. He could find out things before they even happened. She also considered he may have had a hand in it, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it occurred. It wasn't completely ludicrous, but if one of The Rouge Brothers wanted to keep this investigation from moving forward, they wouldn't only kill Andy. They'd have to kill Luke…and Sam. Besides, Phillip's methods would be a lot more thorough. A car accident wouldn't guarantee a successful hit.

Andy mulled this over as his car idled.

"I'm fine." She answered finally, then bit her lip.

"I've actually been following my own line of investigation."

"McNally!" Oliver called, cupping his hands over his mouth. "Move it along, we're getting backed up down here!"

"Okay!" she yelled back, tapping the roof of Phillip's car and backing up onto the sidewalk.

"You're free to go." She motioned for him to leave.

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card. The dark words were printed on a glossy red background. Like blood. Fitting.

"I've reconsidered." He said, answering her confused expression. "_Some_ cops aren't all that bad."

She looked down at the words printed before her and handed it back to him.

"We've got all your contact details on file, sir. If I have any questions for you, I'll contact you that way."

She was trying to colour inside the lines. She was trying not to give Luke more ammunition against her. Her head throbbed as Phillip's eyes pierced her.

"That's my personal number, _McNally_." He threw emphasis on her name, like she had back at The Penny when she tried to get a rise out of him.

"I'm not interested." She said quickly, dropping her arm, with the card in her hand, to her side.

She could see Oliver coming towards her out of the corner of her eye. She didn't want him to see who she was talking to. If Oliver knew, Sam would eventually know. She didn't exactly want a repeat of the last time she spoke to Couperet on her own.

"You flatter yourself," he chuckled, glancing to the road and resting his arm on the steering wheel.

He looked back at her, his smile falling.

"Maybe it's just a peace offering."

Andy watched him carefully, looking for signs of trickery. Phillip Couperet was his own brand of devious.

She saw Oliver closing in on them, looking suspicious. She folded the card into her hand and nodded.

Phillip winked at her and drove off, a line of impatient drivers following him.

Oliver caught up to her then, nodding his head at the mysterious black BMW.

"Who was that?"

"Oh," Andy glanced at him, "Just a friend."

"Well, next time you have a friend pull up, you get somebody else to test 'em, okay?"

She nodded with a tight smile and Oliver nodded.

If Oliver thought that Andy lied, he didn't show it.

Phillip's business card sat like a searing lead weight in her palm.

* * *

A/N The Burger's Priest is actually a real place. I'm just totally invested in the research when it comes to story writing (not). Stay tuned!


	7. The Broken Lilies

A/N WARNING: this chapter contains graphic content. Disclaimer: I own nothing! Literally! Rookie Blue and it's characters belong to somebody else. Only a month until the Rookie Blue premier! Hope you enjoy this new chapter. Don't forget to drop me a review!

* * *

Andy stared at the offending business card. It sat on the coffee table where she'd left it after getting home that night. Phillip's words reverberated in her skull, constantly echoing like she was stood in the middle of a canyon.

She chewed her nails absently as she re-read the words over and over again. She scrutinised it and examined it like one would examine a piece of art, or a bomb. She felt like her relationship with Phillip, strange though it was, resembled a ticking time bomb. Phillip himself, resembled something with an edge.

This case had become like a jack in the box. Andy knew there would eventually be a surprise, something she probably wouldn't like, but she kept winding anyway, she kept searching. It was like some self-fulfilling prophecy. She knew that she should throw away Phillip's card, but she also knew that if she did, she could miss out on finding more information about Katie.

There really wasn't anybody else alive who knew her like her brother would. The Couperet parents were dead.

Phillip was alone.

She picked it up from the table and ran her thumb over the embossed words.

_Phillip Couperet_

_Meat Packing and Whole Foods_

His "business" seemed rather innocent.

She wondered if Phillip Couperet had ever actually killed anyone. Andy scolded herself immediately after she thought it. There was no use trying to make excuses for Phillip Couperet, trying to purify his image in her mind. It wouldn't change the fact that he'd probably done very bad things.

And trying to pretend he didn't just to make it easier for Andy to use him for the case was a bad move. She should know better than to make excuses for people's mistakes. That was a lesson she learned a long time ago from Tommy McNally. Well, she'd learned it from an anonymous helpline, actually. The woman on the other end had a gravelly voice, but she could have had the voice of Darth Vader and still sound like an angel to Andy on that day.

She cried into the receiver of a pay phone; sixteen years old.

The woman told Andy that just because she managed to think of some viable reason for why Tommy got drunk all the time, it didn't make it right, and it wouldn't help him get better. That was the only time Andy believed somebody when they told her that it wasn't her fault. That she wasn't alone.

She'd hung up the phone when they suggested she go to the police station to get help for herself and Tommy.

Andy had only wanted someone to talk to that day. She knew the repercussions if she told the police, being that Tommy _was_ the police. He'd be humiliated. God knows where Andy would be taken, especially if Tommy was seen as an unfit parent.

She couldn't justify keeping Phillip's card just because it's possible he hadn't killed anyone. That was being naïve.

Andy just couldn't help but try to see something redeeming in everyone she met.

Maybe it was just pity, because of the loss of his sister. Nevertheless, she couldn't let herself feel sorry for him.

Andy stood up and grabbed the card, walking it to the kitchen and holding it above the trash can. She stood there, poised to dispose. But she couldn't. Her cop instincts also told her that having Phillip as an ally may actually help her solve this case. Even if he was guilty.

She dropped it into the cutlery draw instead.

Now with nothing to think about but that card, Andy found her book halfway under the sofa. She left the page dog-eared. Flipping open to where she left off, she propped her feet up on the coffee table.

Violet was drowning. The last time Andy read, Violet was close to a discovery, finding something shiny reflected on the reef. She got caught in some fishing line. It dug into her skin, cut into her flesh. She couldn't breathe and Andy felt her breath catching in her own throat.

Violet's thoughts turned to death, and heaven.

_Would it be quick? Will I remember my life?_

But there was hope. She woke up back on her boat, still feeling the sear of saltwater in fresh wounds and the burn of airless lungs, but alive.

A young man appeared before her.

Andy read straight through to after one in the morning.

The man that saved Violet, his name was Damien. He became her love interest. The relationship blossomed, but Violet was stubborn.

She was driven to find this fish, like her life depended on it. Andy grew frustrated with it after it reached two o'clock. She put the book down finally and dragged herself to bed.

Despite her fixation on Couperet for the past twelve hours, Andy's last thought of the day was reserved for Sam.

* * *

Before her shift started, Andy hit the gym equipment. She considered going to her personal gym but realised she'd forgotten to renew her membership and couldn't be bothered paying more money.

She felt a little regretful later, though. Once she was lifting weights in the small square room, she noticed she spent all of her time either at home or at the police station. On occasion, she'd spend an hour or two at The Penny. She scolded herself for not getting out more. Maybe that's why she was having such vivid dreams; there was no other stimulation in her life besides work.

Sam strode past the windows then, plain-clothed and on his way to the locker room. He turned his head like he knew she was watching and she quickly shifted her gaze, trying to make it look less obvious that she was gawking.

She thought about stimulation at work, biting her lip as Sam gave her a smile and a wink.

Andy took a deep breath in, shaking her head profusely, reminding herself to stay composed. She lowered the weight in her hand to the ground, letting her breath out simultaneously.

She liked to work out; it was a huge stress lifter.

Sam had encouraged her to use her passion for fitness to work out her tension. Andy tried not to think of other ways to relieve tension. She squinted her eyes shut, growling at herself. She wasn't just stressed; she was freakin' horny.

Sweat beaded on her brow as she finished up. She grabbed her towel as Sam came in, stretching his arms above his head so his shirt rode up to expose his abs.

_Jesus Christ_, Andy whined internally, averting her eyes.

"Pumping some iron, eh, McNally?" he shook his limbs out.

"Well," she laughed nervously. "You know me. I love to pump," she frowned at her own accidental innuendo, clearing her throat and desperately trying to change the subject.

"Any news about the case?"

"I know as much as you do, McNally." He assured her, lowering himself onto the gym mats.

Andy sat down opposite him, crossing her legs in front of her and feeling the twinge of a pulled muscle along the back of her right thigh.

Sam jerked his chin toward the glass.

"Callaghan seems to be a little more neurotic than usual."

Andy followed his gaze, straining her neck to catch Luke stalking past the windows, his hair a mess and his eyes looking a little crazed.

Andy stretched her leg out, absently, turning her attention back to Sam and hissing at the pain.

She'd pushed too hard without warming up properly. That was a rookie error. Which she had no business making. She'd been a die-hard fitness freak since high school; she should know better.

Andy knew better than to make it obvious why she was so scattered. The answer was sitting in her cutlery draw at home.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, noticing her discomfort.

"Nothing," she grimaced, rubbing the tender muscle.

"It's not nothing." He admonished, getting up onto his knees and moving toward her.

Andy stayed rigid and wide-eyed as Sam approached her, shuffling on his knees.

"Is this okay?" his voice was suddenly lower, reaching out to touch her legs.

She nodded in a haze.

"Lie back." He said softly, and Andy practically collapsed onto the mats in a huff.

"Okay, now bring your knees up to your chest," he ordered.

He was _right there_. He was just…engulfing her senses. Capturing her space.

She raised her knees up and he grasped both her ankles, bringing them up to his chest. Her feet rested flat on his pecs.

_Wow,_ Andy thought. _This could NOT get any closer to a scene out of a sitcom._

He leaned forward and for fuck's sake, their crotches were pretty much friendly neighbours.

"You okay?" he asked and she tried not to show her nervousness as he looked down at her.

Their eyes locked and it was the most awkward erotic moment in Andy's life.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes watering.

"Shit, am I hurting you?" he asked, pulling back slightly.

A giggle bubbled from her lips.

He smirked, shaking his head.

They were locked in the missionary position but with their clothes _on_. To make it worse, their conversation sounded like something out of a cliché coming-of-age movie when the guy takes the girl's virginity.

The whole thing got too ridiculous, Andy was getting too flustered and she couldn't hold it in. Sam was shaking with laughter, too.

It burst from inside them, and Andy couldn't breathe. Sam pulled back and collapsed on his side.

"Oh, God." Andy covered her mouth, tears streaming. "I needed that."

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at Sam. He was lying flat on his back, peering up at the ceiling with an easy smile.

That was Sam.

This was when he was himself.

That smile was his.

* * *

Andy followed a bickering Nick and Gail into the parade room.

It was business as usual. Frank asked Luke if he had any news on the homicide case but he just shook his head.

Andy watched him for a moment. He looked as bad as Andy had been feeling.

Maybe this case was getting to him, too.

Andy was riding with Gail for the shift. She was sort of relieved. She didn't think she could handle any more tension around Swarek. Gail was a little bit of a break.

"So, how's things going with Nick?"

Gail made a gargling noise in the back of her throat and Andy chuckled.

"Come on, it can't be that bad."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, the sex is _great_."

"Oh," Andy made a face.

"I don't know…" she continued, oblivious to Andy's reaction. "Sometimes he acts as if nothing has happened since the last time we tried to do this."

"What, sex?"

"No! Relationships and feelings and crap." She explained.

"Sure," Andy nodded her head, not quite knowing how to respond.

A few days ago, Gail had been so rigid about her personal life. It wasn't often that she let people peek in. Andy was glad they'd lost whatever hostility they held towards each other from the academy. Gail must have trusted her if she was going to talk about relationships and feelings and crap.

"Have you actually talked to him about it?"

Gail shrugged.

"What's talk? How do I even go there? Ugh. I should just be a lesbian."

"I'm pretty sure you'd have the same issues. With, like, relationships and feelings and crap."

Gail pouted as the radio crackled.

"_We've got a B and E in progress at 'Tanya's Arrangements', a florist on Smith and West."_

"Just talk to him." Andy ordered, putting an end to their banter as she picked up the radio receiver.

"1509, we're on it."

* * *

It was close to six o'clock, and the sun was long gone. Andy and Gail were going to get some food on their way back to the barn. They were sitting in a drive-through at a fast food restaurant when Andy realised something.

"Hey, can we stop by somewhere before we get back to the station?"

Normally, Andy wouldn't ask Gail for permission, but _she_ was driving. Which for some reason gave her veto powers.

Gail groaned as she crept forward to the next window, stopping an inch short of the driver in front of them.

"Stop by where?" she asked suspiciously.

"Enjoy your meal, officers." A teenage boy mumbled as he handed Gail the paper bag.

"I wanted to see Janice. The woman that found the bodies on Key Street."

"What?" she said incredulously, talking around a mouthful of French fries.

"It's only, like, four blocks from here, come on, Gail."

"Ugh, Andy. It is not our job to play babysitter."

Andy raised an eyebrow, challenging her.

"Fine. Maybe it is sometimes. But this woman is not your responsibility."

"We've got nothing else to do, I just wanted to give her these." She held up a miniature bouquet of lillies she'd bought from the _Tanya's Arrangements_.

"They were a bargain, a few broken stems. I shouldn't be happy about the perp falling through the skylight, but at least we got something out of it."

Gail rolled her eyes.

"_God_, you're turning into Dov." She groaned. "Fine! But only as long as it takes you to dump those on her porch."

"I'm surprised you're not better known for your compassion." Andy muttered.

Gail pulled up outside Janice Forrester's house. Andy grinned and unclipped her seatbelt. Gail sighed loudly and slumped back in her seat.

"Three minutes!" Gail shouted as Andy slammed the door.

She walked briskly across the street and up Janice's front lawn. The porch light was on already, making it easy to navigate the brittle wooden steps up to the front door.

Andy knocked and called out.

"Hello? Janice? It's Officer McNally!"

She pressed her forehead into the screen door, peering through the misted glass squares of the wooden door.

"Janice?" she called out again.

She wasn't home.

She placed the lillies on the door step, out of the way of the door so they wouldn't get squished.

Andy hopped back down the steps and across the street to the cruiser. She dropped herself inside and shivered as the heater put feeling back into her extremities.

Janice was getting on with her life. Like Andy should be. Suddenly she felt guilty. Janice had been through horrors that nobody should have to go through. Andy could bite this loneliness, she could get through this case. She would finish it and not let it end her. Janice didn't let her son's death destroy her, or finding Eric.

She was _strong_ and Andy idolised that.

She watched the porch light disappear into the distance.

* * *

Sleep had been pretty illusive for Andy lately. She stayed up most of the night, reading 'The Red Herring'.

Violet left Damien to find the fish. Andy practically threw the book against the wall. When she left the docks, Damien begged on his hands and knees for her to stay. He told her he loved her.

Violet said she loved him, but she needed to find the fish first. Violet's monologue said she was conflicted.

Conflicted.

Andy hated that word. It felt like nothing could ever be solved or fixed. It felt like Violet was going to be looking for this fish forever.

Andy felt like Violet, trying to solve this case. She felt like The Rouge Brothers were her fish.

After a restless night, fading in and out of sleep, Andy made it to work looking like a zombie. She made her way over to the coffee machine and betrayed herself by throwing a spoon of sugar into the cup. Usually she didn't like the taste but she needed some energy. She knew running off a sugar high would make her crash pretty quickly.

"Sugar?" Sam asked with confusion as he appeared from behind her.

"Yes, Sam?" she joked with a faux grin.

Sam rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"Yeah, I know." Andy said. "I had a spoonful. I needed it."

"You're a wild woman."

"Totally," she took a sip, wincing as it seared her tongue a little. "Hey, we're riding together today. Anything…?"

Sam shook his head, knowing what she was asking about.

"No new leads. We've hit a dead end. There's nothing more to do at the moment. There's nothing we can use to pin it on the brothers."

Phillip's card flashed in Andy's mind like a dirty magazine. She shook her head like it would help it disappear.

"Well, then, if you're up for it, I wanted to go see Janice." She took another sip as Sam mixed some _Splenda_ into his cup.

"Sure," he said.

"Yeah, I went to see her last night but she wasn't home. I just wanted to check up on her."

"You know you don't have to, right?" Sam replied seriously.

"I know, Sam." She said, frustrated. "I know it's not my job, but who else is going to do it. I care, alright. Is that a crime?"

Sam shook his head.

"Of course not. Just don't get involved, is all I'm saying."

Andy took another sip, hiding her guilty face from her partner. He was like a fucking mentalist, he could tell if she was hiding something from a minute flinch she made. She was afraid of Sam figuring out her liaison with Phillip. Which was extremely unlikely. But she felt that he could read her so well, he may as well find out. She was about to break the silence with a change of subject until he spoke up first.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

* * *

"You remember Emily…?" That was a stupid question.

Of course he would remember Emily, but she didn't know how else to bring up the subject.

"What about her?" Sam asked, his arm resting on the steering wheel as they made their way through a set of traffic lights.

"You broke the rules for her."

Sam shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably.

"Where is this going?"

Andy shook her head.

"Nowhere. I'm just wondering…how did you know it was going to work out? You could have lost your job, gotten into serious trouble for not writing her up as an informant. How did you know if it was worth it? Breaking the rules, I mean."

"You just know." Sam shrugged.

"It was to help innocent people. I wanted to help Em, so I did what I could without killing anyone. At the end of the day, she got out alive. Even if I didn't get the bust. Even if Anton Hill walked. Which he did."

Andy nodded, trying to look nonchalant. Sam obviously saw through her.

"What is this about? You planning on bending the rules for somebody?" he between her and the road.

"No, no." she smirked, shaking her head. "Of course not."

"Right." He responded sarcastically.

"Listen, if you're planning on something shady just let me in on it, alright?"

Andy frowned.

"When you wanted to colour outside the lines, you wouldn't let me get involved. What makes you think I would do that to you if I was doing the same thing?"

Sam gave her a look.

"Hypothetically." She added.

"Well, it was practically your first day. Besides, I didn't know you back then. You could have been a square who told on me to Mom and Dad."

"Okay, fine. You didn't know me. Doesn't mean I'd let you get involved in some shady business _I've_ got going on." She narrowed her eyes at him.

Sam smiled wistfully, turning the corner onto Janice's street.

"We all need back up sometimes, McNally. I'm just doing what any partner would do." He parked outside of Janice's house.

Andy stared at him for a moment and thought to herself,

_You're not just _any_ partner._

"We going, or what?" he asked, pulling off his seat belt.

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed, opening her door.

She examined the outside of Janice's house briefly and paused.

Her lilies were still there. Sam looked back at her, halfway up the front lawn.

"You alright?"

Andy nodded, following him and bounding up the front steps. She pursed her lips at the flowers, hoping Janice didn't think they were a pity-gift.

Sam motioned for Andy to knock.

She wrapped her knuckles against the door frame and called out Janice's name.

They waited. Sam moved to peer through the curtains of the bay window next to the door. The one that looked in on the living room.

"There's a fire going, she must be home."

"Maybe she's asleep?" Andy reasoned, knocking again.

Something didn't sit right in the pit of her stomach.

So, she pulled the screen door back, glancing at Sam. He didn't say anything, but his face betrayed what he thought. This made Andy move quicker. Which made Sam reconsider.

"Wait, hold on, McNally—"

"Janice?" Andy called out, opening the wooden door and pushing through.

The door was unlocked.

Andy strode through the empty living room.

"Janice? Are you okay? It's officer McNally!" she walked through to the kitchen and she wasn't there either.

She doubled back towards the front door and took to the stairs. The light was on in the bathroom and she paused. Andy swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

The light reflected off the watery pool of red in the middle of the floor and all the air escaped Andy's lungs. The smell was pungent.

The bathtub had overflowed slightly, spilling diluted blood onto the tiles. Janice's arm hung over the edge of the porcelain, her fingers dragging in the liquid, her pale skin webbed with trails of crimson.

Andy blinked and Sam touched her shoulder.

He stepped back into the hallway and called it in.

* * *

It was being a cop that made you realise, more sharply and with more clarity than you could imagine, that the world was random and cruel, and nothing will ever make sense like it should.

Today was one of those days. The world seemed merciless. Janice was dead and it didn't make sense to Andy. These things have to make sense, otherwise...what is the point? There had to be an answer for Andy. But Janice took those answers with her.

She leaned against the cruiser as the coroner spoke with Sam.

She caught the word 'suicide'. It thumped inside her head. It was a mean word, a cruel and scary word. It was sharp, and it hurt to hear.

She folded her arms numbly.

Sam approached her then.

"Suicide, then?" she murmured as he stopped in front of her.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Cause of death was blood loss from self-inflicted injuries."

Andy kept nodding and breathing. That's all she could do for Janice now. Listen to the coroner's findings, watch her body get taken away, and nod, and breathe.

"Time of death?" she asked, staring at the curb.

"Probably last night, between nine and twelve."

Andy closed her eyes, a throbbing regret churning in her stomach.

"I was here at six last night. I could have—"

"No. Andy. Don't."

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head, and beating down the feeling that crept up her throat and stung her eyes. Sadness. Grief. For a person she barely knew.

Sam caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger, turning her face back to him.

"It's not your fault. Sometimes we can't help everyone." He dropped his fingers and kept his dark eyes locked on hers.

Her sight became blurry with tears.

"This job is about trying."

"But, I _did_ try!" she ground out, gritting her teeth and pulling back the tears. "I tried harder than anyone. She was doing so well. She's so strong…" she glanced at the lilies on the porch, untouched.

"I thought she'd be fine."

Sam took her hand.

"With this job, you can never tell."

Noelle's words echoed back in Andy's mind. The day she saved that woman from the burning car, but she ended up dying anyway.

_It happens sometimes. You do what you can and it looks like you got 'em…and…then you don't._


	8. Cafe Novo

A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue or these characters! This chapter is pretty long, hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think in the reviews!

* * *

Andy and Sam got back to the barn after a few hours at Janice's house. The ride there was silent and she was sure Sam was worried. He always worried about her.

But she hoped he didn't talk. She didn't want to talk.

They pulled into the parking lot and Andy immediately got out. Everybody lived, breathed and worked normally…even when somebody else's life had just ended.

Instead of sulking, she sat herself at one of the desks, drumming her fingers on the surface. She could feel Sam behind her. She swivelled around to face him.

"What?" she said, a little curtly.

"I just want to know if you'll be alright." He leaned down slightly to her eye level.

Andy shrugged.

"I'm fine," she flipped her hair out of her face. "Life goes on, right?"

Sam didn't respond. He just looked at her and Andy wanted to apologise if he felt she was being ungrateful for his sympathy.

But she couldn't bring any more words out of her mouth. She just gave him a half-hearted smile and turned back around to face the desk.

"I've got paper work to do, remember?" she sighed, hearing his footsteps round the table.

She grabbed the mouse and just stared at the desktop. She didn't know where to start. She wished people were more upset, more outraged. She wished somebody shared her grief for Janice's passing. For a woman who had nothing left, who wanted to leave.

She squinted her eyes shut, feeling the exhaustion from today and the past few nights of erratic sleeping. It was catching up with her, but she beat it down, to the pit of her stomach and the back of her mind. She hid the bad feelings away to somewhere where she couldn't feel them, didn't have to look at them. Like hiding an ugly painting, or a bad photograph. It was hard to look at, hard to accept, and she wished she could just throw the bad stuff away.

But it stuck to her like tar.

It was always there, every day. All the pain and sadness; other people's grief became her own. She grieved for Janice's son. She grieved for Eric, for Tara, and for Katie.

She grieved for Janice. But she felt guilty grieving for her, like it wasn't her place to miss someone she didn't know. Not properly.

Janice didn't appear to have a next of kin, or any family. Was there anybody besides Andy to even miss her? Did anybody even know she was gone?

"Andy? Are you listening?" Sam was sitting opposite her on the other side of the desk.

His hand was reached out, covering hers. She looked down at it, realising he'd been talking.

"Yeah, what were you saying?" she moved her hand out from under his, focusing back on the computer screen.

"I said, I'm not gonna tell you to go home because I know you won't want to. And you wouldn't go even if you did want to. But don't stay on shift if you've got some heavy things on your mind."

She looked at him then.

"Thanks."

He gave her a warm smile; his speciality.

"You know where I am if you do want to talk."

He left it that. Because he knew she wouldn't say yes. Not yet anyway. He left her to think about it and to cope with it in her own way. It was the best way for her to get help, or to talk to someone. When she wasn't forced to do it.

But the images from that bathroom kept flashing before her eyes, so vivid, and so red. Andy took a breath and dug her hands in her pockets. Her hand pushed against something papery. The memory struck her, when she printed out the names of the cases similar to Tara and Katie's.

She pulled it out and unfolded it. She guessed she hadn't had these pants washed if the document was still intact.

Tara's name was at the top, the picture assigned to her case file sat next to her name. A few more followed; Renee Brennan, Maria Schneider, Lily Phillips, Dianne Nichols…Katie Couperet.

She stared at the last name, debating with herself. She couldn't get Katie Couperet out of her mind. She looked at her picture adjacent to the case number and she thought about Phillip.

She thought about his card. Straightening up in the chair, she made an impulse decision.

"Hey, Sam!" she got up and strode towards him as he was making coffee.

"I was making you one." He said as she reached him.

"No, I wanted to drop by my house to get something. Can you cover for me?"

"Are you okay?" he asked, putting the coffee pot down, frowning.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She said a little breathlessly, taking steps backwards. "I'll be a half hour, tops."

"Okay." He reached into his pocket and threw her the keys to the cruiser.

"Thanks,"

He nodded, his brow furrowed over his dark eyes.

She smiled and pulled her jacket from her chair, shrugging it on as she made her way to the lot.

* * *

Andy pulled up outside her apartment building, bounding up the stairs and toward her front door. She pushed inside, leaving the door wide open.

It was weird coming home in the middle of the day. You could sense the emptiness of the place.

Brushing that aside, she stalked over to the kitchen and shoved her hand in the cutlery draw, her hands finding purchase on the dreaded red business card.

She held it in her hand, reading it over and over again before she reached into her pocket for her cell phone. She glanced at the screen, then back at the card.

_I'm desperate_, she tried to reason with herself. _But there is no going back after this._

She took a deep breath and dialled the number.

A deep familiar voice answered.

"Couperet." He said, in lieu of a 'hello'.

"Mr. Couperet, it's Officer McNally." She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to compose herself and not say something stupid.

"Nice to hear from you." She could hear the satisfaction and the curiosity in his tone.

She wasn't sure what he stood to gain from this 'peace offering'.

It didn't make sense that he'd be so congenial to her after his clear display of contempt for law enforcement. In Andy's mind, if Phillip couldn't find Katie's murderer, neither could the cops. But it seemed like he was trying to be nice. To what end? To find Katie's murderer?

It just didn't make sense. Not for a guy like Couperet to enlist the help of the police, especially since they couldn't help twelve years ago, like he said.

"I wanted to talk to you about something. Are you available to meet up?"

"Of course." He sounded confused now, but eager. "Meet me at _Café Novo_ on Bloor Street."

"Okay," Andy was breathless, her heart pounding in her ears. "I'll be there soon."

She flipped her cell phone shut and stared at it, biting her lip. She could have just made a career destroying mistake. She never usually coloured outside of the lines. But if it meant solving a case, she was ready to do just that.

Dropping the card back into the cutlery draw for safe keeping—she didn't want to keep it on her person—she deposited her phone back in her pocket and fled back to the cruiser.

* * *

Andy wished she'd had something to put over her uniform. If somebody saw her meeting with Phillip they'd think the worst. Or, they'd think she was interviewing him. However, if either of those was believed to be true and got back to the station, she'd be in serious trouble. Andy steeled herself and decided to act nonchalant.

She saw Phillip sitting at a table facing outside, right next to the huge windows. She breathed slowly, purposefully and got out of the car. People scurried past her to get inside the heat of the café, their scarfs and coats billowing behind them like shadows.

Andy had to admit, she was grateful for a meeting place that was indoors. The temperatures had been pretty unforgiving in the past few weeks.

She approached him carefully, stopping right next to him. He wore a navy blue suit jacket and jeans. His trench coat was hung on the backrest of his chair.

He looked up at her and motioned for her to take a seat.

"Couldn't have found a more obvious place?" she grimaced, pulling her coat off and holding it in her lap.

"Better here where it's less suspicious to see us talking than in a secluded parking lot where people could think the worst." He took a sip out of a white ceramic tea cup.

She didn't take him for a tea person.

"I ordered you something." He said, placing it down on the saucer.

"Oh," she felt embarrassed.

This had to be the weirdest situation she'd ever been in.

"That wasn't necessary."

He evaluated her and pushed his bottom lip out, narrowing his eyes.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about, Miss McNally?"

Andy looked down at her lap. Usually she'd correct people when they said 'Miss' instead of 'officer'. She let it slide.

"You can make eye contact with me. I won't bite." He added.

She looked back at him and she wasn't sure if she should tell him the truth. But she needed the help. She wanted to know. Curiosity killed the cat.

"I know about your sister."

He was still, unmoving, silent. It was like he'd just heard the worst news of his life, like he was in shock. But then he spoke with ease.

"I thought you might,"

Andy nodded.

"Is that what you meant when you said the police couldn't help twelve years ago?"

Phillip raised an eyebrow at her.

"What do you think?" he said, his voice dripping with an acidic sarcasm.

Andy glanced out the windows and onto the street; it was easier to talk when she wasn't looking him in the eye. Even if he said he doesn't bite, his eyes definitely do.

"I think that what happened to your sister was horrible."

He didn't say anything. He was rigid and his bitterness showed in spades.

"And I also think that whoever did it has killed more girls."

That seemed to animate him, his eyes shining.

"If I knew anything, trust me, whoever did it wouldn't be around to continue doing it."

Andy nodded.

"I know." She swallowed. "But maybe with what we know now, there's a link that we missed between the two. Between Katie—"

He stiffened at the mention of her name.

"—and the most recent victims; Tara Hunter and maybe Eric Jorgensen."

He put his attention back to his tea, cradling it and staring into the cup.

"We didn't kill that boy." He said suddenly.

It was the most honest thing she'd heard in a while. There was so much clarity to it, and the perfect tone. He was telling the truth.

Andy stayed quiet.

He knew she believed him already.

"Can you tell me about her?" she murmured, leaning closer.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his shoulders rising slightly.

"What is there to tell?" he shrugged.

He chuckled mirthlessly.

"She was innocent." He muttered. "My parents said I'd be in trouble. That I'd die young, mixed up with all the wrong people as a kid. Doing drugs, drinking too much…" he shook his head. "But they always got shit wrong. Bad gamblers; couldn't put money on a horse to save their lives."

The waitress approached them carrying a tray.

"A macchiato with no sugar," she placed it before Andy. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Phillip didn't answer so Andy shook her head and smiled politely.

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket.

"Sorry," she held up her hand, fishing in her pocket and checking the caller ID.

Sam.

She knew she'd regret this later, but she let it go to voicemail.

"Every woman in my life ends up as dust and ash. Did you know my wife died recently?"

He didn't let Andy answer.

"Lung cancer." He shook his head. "Never smoked a cigarette in her life."

"Katie." He cleared his throat. "Murdered…" he didn't know how to end that sentence.

He just looked at his tea cup.

"I'm sure you have all the information you need from her case file."

"I'm sorry to reopen old wounds." She said sincerely. "But what can _you_ tell me about her?"

Phillip looked at her then and Andy saw over a decade of pain behind his eyes. It wasn't an old wound; it was as fresh as the day it happened.

"She was amazing." He half smiled, his eyes glazing over as he got lost in thought. "She was going to law school. Can you imagine?"

He shook his head.

"She liked to paint. I have one of her works above my mantel piece." He made a square shape in the air with his fingers.

He dropped them back to the table.

"I was a suspect."

Andy had read about that. It was normal though, and given Phillip's past and how he made a living now, being suspected was understandable.

"They almost charged me with her murder."

The muscles in his jaw flexed.

"To be honest, they didn't have a lot of leads. She was popular and loved, but not overexposed. There was nobody who was jealous of her. Not homicidally. She had boyfriends but they all had alibis."

Andy hung her head. It didn't look like this conversation was going anywhere. Phillip was still grieving, even after twelve years, just like Janice had been grieving.

They were both silent.

"You look like you've had a rough day." He said suddenly.

"You get them sometimes." Andy shrugged, absently scratching the table with her fingernail.

"I'm not gonna tell on you for sharing." He deadpanned.

She appraised him and shrugged again.

"A witness…she…she was doing fine. And then I found her dead this morning." Andy frowned. "Wow. It sounds strange when I say it."

"What happened?"

"Suicide."

Phillip nodded.

"Can't blame her. It's a horrible thing."

"What is?" Andy asked, confused.

"Living." He took a sip from his cup and looked back at her.

Andy watched him, chewing her lip. Phillip was a tired looking man, wearied and disenchanted by the cruelty of life. When bad things keep happening, you have to wonder if there's any point to trying.

"Why did you give me your card?"

Phillip shook his head, a smile playing on his lips despite the morbidity of the rest of the conversation.

"I guess you remind me of her." He said finally, except his tone showed a curious sense of shyness.

"Who?" she had to ask.

"My sister. Despite the obvious physical similarities, you're a lot like her."

Andy hadn't thought she looked like Katie Couperet. She'd never considered it before. Picturing Katie's case file in her head, she had to digress, the dark hair and eyes sort of matched.

However, having someone actually mention it out loud was disconcerting and eerie.

"What do you mean?" she pushed, confused. "How am I like her?"

Phillip finished off his tea and stood up.

"You love your job. You love _people_. Personally, I hate everyone, but you have that in common with Katie. You try to help everyone, and you make it your responsibility. Katie volunteered at homeless shelters, at the church. She tutored freshmen in her college. They were like her progenies. I'm guessing this woman you lost today…she was important to you even though you barely knew her?"

Andy looked down at her shoes, then back up at Phillip who now towered over her.

He nodded in understanding.

"It was nice seeing you again, Officer. I just hope that job doesn't destroy you before we can meet again." He held his hand out and Andy took it.

"I could say the same about you." Andy quipped and Phillip smirked.

They shook and he left.

* * *

"You know I have to ask." Sam said, holding his hand out for the keys to the cruiser.

Andy dropped them into his palm and took a seat at the desk next to him. He had a packet of chips on his desk, picking it back up and waiting for her answer.

She gave him his sweetest but most fake smile.

"Have it your way." He sniffed. "If you're plotting espionage by posing as an officer of the law, I won't be able to help you once the CSIS get to you."

"Espionage?" Andy chuckled.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "You could be like James Bond. Only bad."

"Like Mata Hari."

"Yeah. Spying on our government."

"Whose spying on our government?" Oliver interrupted, plucking the chips out of Sam's hand.

"Help yourself." He said sarcastically and Oliver smiled.

"Hey, I'm sorry to hear about Mrs. Forrester." He said suddenly.

It caught Andy off guard and she was grateful that somebody who wasn't around her actually cared to say something. But it made her feel more guilty. Like she was the person to hand condolences to when she shouldn't be.

"Thanks," she said with barely any volume, then cleared her throat.

"I should get to that paperwork, though." She turned back to the desk and the task she was about to start before she went MIA for an hour to visit Phillip.

"I'll help." Sam volunteered as Oliver snuck off with his snack.

* * *

The rest of the day had been fairly uneventful. Andy was sore, sad, and regretting her meeting with Phillip. Noting much had come of it and she wished she could erase it from the past. Bending the rules had given her nothing and it may just cause her problems in the future, especially if Luke found out. The idea plagued her.

Stepping out into the lot, she spotted Traci getting out of her VW.

"Trace!" she jogged toward her, rounding the bumper to meet her at her door.

"Hey!" she breathed, pulling her into a tight hug. "Where've you been?"

"Hey to you, too." She wheezed. "Been a bad day or something? You're cutting off my air."

"Sorry," she pulled back and held her at arm-length.

"I know I've been pretty invisible for the past few days." She slung her handbag over her shoulder. "I haven't been well." She added.

Andy frowned.

"But you never get sick…"

Traci looked at her and Andy's heart sunk with worry.

"Is there something wrong?" she didn't think she could take any more bad news.

Traci shook her head and smiled.

"I'm pregnant."

The words hit Andy hard.

"Oh my God." She couldn't stop the huge grin spreading over her face. "Oh my God, Traci!"

She pulled her back in for another hug.

"I'm so happy for you. You're happy, right? We're happy about this?"

"Yeah," Traci's laugh was muffled by Andy's scarf.

She let her go again and Traci's face mirrored her own.

"That's so amazing. You'll have to come over to mine some time so we can talk. I've missed you."

Traci nodded, her eyebrows pulling together.

"I know. We will, I promise. But right now, you're perfume is kinda wigging me out so…" she was pointing to the station and scrunching her nose in distaste.

"What?" Andy sniffed her scarf, slightly offended. "Go!" she laughed as Traci just stood there.

"Go puke. I'll see you later."

"I'll call you!" Traci muttered out as she bolted for the station.

* * *

Andy checked her phone when she got home. She had a missed call from Sam—the one from earlier that day—and a text message from Traci.

_Don't EVER wear that perfume around me again unless you want me blowing chunks in your face. I tell you this because I love you._

_X_

Andy chuckled and shook her head, dropping her phone on the kitchen counter as she browsed the skeletally bare fridge for something to eat. She settled on one of the frozen soups she'd made for Tommy. Pity she didn't take her own advice and make sure she had her own meals to eat. Tommy probably ate better than her and he barely knew how to cook.

She fell asleep on the sofa, the T.V buzzing softly in the background of her mind. She catapulted into deep sleep. Before long, images were swirling before her eyes.

This dream was different from the others. There was no Katie, no Tara…

But she was standing in the middle of the marsh where Tara and Eric were found. She was sunk up to her knees in the soggy ground, the wind blowing curiously warm air over her. There was frost on the blades of grass, the water cold, but the breeze felt like Summer.

Something even hotter ran down her neck. She touched it, her hand coming away covered with blood. So she ran. To get help. To find Sam, to find Traci, somebody…

And then she sunk into the marsh. Up to her waist, and further. Struggling made it worse.

The ground swallowed her up into a dark abyss until she came falling into a room like it had been hidden underneath the sinking marsh.

She landed hard on her back. It became a completely different scene. She was lying on the floor of a room, like an empty hospital room. A shadow flitted at the door way of the room, light filtering in from behind them. The figure came in. Phillip.

It _looked_ like Phillip, except his face morphed into somebody unrecognisable.

He covered her in a plastic sheet. Like the other girls. She screamed.

Andy jolted awake, almost falling off the couch.

She shuddered, breathing hard and looking around her frantically to prove to her brain it was really just a dream, a disturbing one at that. There hadn't been any noise. Even her scream had been quiet. It was like one of those silent movies, black, white, and noiseless.

The room was dark, bathed only in the light from the television screen playing some kind of crime show rerun.

She pressed the off button on the remote with shaking hands, padding to her bedroom, closing the door and getting between the sheets. The night was still and eerie; of course her dream hadn't helped with that. But the images from her dream were slowly dying, fading into vague memories.

She turned on her lamp and decided to read a few pages of her book to keep her mind off the nightmare. But she couldn't keep her eyes open. She only read a sentence or two that didn't sink in.

Violet was deciding which direction to go in next, but she was too busy missing Damien.

She left the light on all night.

* * *

Andy woke up before dawn. She watched the grey light stream through the gap in her curtains, watched the dust motes float and reflect when the light grew more golden.

The day became clearer, the sky showed a little blue, but the sun did nothing to quell the anxiety and the fear budding from Andy's nightmare.

It wasn't that she was afraid of the murderer, or even Phillip for that matter.

The dream told her she was even closer to burning out than she thought. She was dreaming herself in the victim's places; that could never be good.

She got out of bed as soon as it hit eight a.m. Her alarm went off and she pressed it gently, shuffling her bare feet across the cold floor towards the bathroom.

She refused to look at herself in the mirror.

_Again, NOT a good sign, Andy_. She told herself.

She didn't want to admit similarities between her and Katie. She didn't want to have that dream again. So she got straight in the shower and rinsed the night away.

* * *

"How you doin' on this fine morning, McNally?" Sam asked, catching up to her as she walked into the station.

"I'm good actually. Refreshed." She sucked in a breath, like she was more light and buoyant than she really felt.

Obviously, Sam knew the difference between reality and overcompensating.

"My shrink said that there's a difference between coping and ignoring." He responded, reaching out and grabbing her gym bag.

"Thanks," she said absently, then, "You see a shrink?"

"In elementary school." He slung her bag over his free shoulder. "School shrink. Very pretty. It was post-Sarah. My mom told the school about what happened to her and we both had to go to therapy."

Andy covered her nose with her gloved hands, trying to warm her face up as well as avoiding Sam's insinuation.

"Pretty, huh?" Andy smirked at him. "You have a crush on the school shrink?"

"Well, I was a boy, I'm only human. She was my first crush." He breathed in deeply, wistfully.

Andy snorted.

"What?" he said defensively. "You can't tell me you never had a crush on a teacher or something."

She rolled her eyes.

"No, not at all."

Sam raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Alright, fine." Andy confessed. "I had a crush on my psych professor. He was French and he was gorgeous. Happy?"

Sam chuckled, nodding. They strode through the front doors together.

"You struggling with those bags or what?" she poked him in the ribs and he doubled over.

Andy guffawed.

"Pull yourself together, man." She ordered, laughing, as she grabbed her bag off him.

He shook his head, pulling his bag back onto his shoulder and following her towards the locker rooms.

Andy had started to see a pattern. Whenever she was with Sam, she felt lighter, hopeful. When she looked at him, she forgot about her nightmares, and finding Janice, and the marsh, and the pain.

They could talk about crushes on teachers in school, and joke about being spies, and he would promise her things, to be there, to back her up. It made the world seem less cruel. It made Andy less afraid.

They went their separate ways to go change into uniform.

Luke accosted her in the hallway as she made her way to the parade room.

"Hey, there you are. I need your help." He walked towards his office without further explanation so Andy followed.

"What's going on?" she asked, as he dropped into the chair by his desk, letting the door fall closed behind her.

He tented his fingertips, a smile glued on his face.

"I hope this is good news." Her excitement grew. "Have we got a lead?"

He pulled out a folder full of documents the size of an encyclopaedia. Andy cringed, knowing where this was going.

"We were able to subpoena Couperet's phone records."

"How? I thought we couldn't connect him to the homicide?" she glanced at the folder with distaste, anxiety growing in her stomach.

If they managed to implicate Couperet for the murders, her meeting with him would come out into the light soon.

"Well, Couperet was done for possession at a random checkpoint."

Andy frowned.

"That doesn't sound like him. Good dealers never touch their own stuff."

Luke shrugged.

"It doesn't really matter why he had it or what, the point is, now we've got our foot in the door to investigate the brothers. Forensics have taken the dope; they're running it against the drugs found in Eric's apartment."

Andy's eyes went wide.

"Then you can prove that Eric was associated with them."

Luke was nodding, his smile growing into a full blown grin.

"I just…you'd think they'd be really careful with that kind of thing. Especially now."

"The brothers are narcissistic, they're proud and they think they're invincible." He explained. "Sometimes what you see is what you get with these cases."

Andy looked at him in disbelief, but decided not to push it.

"Well, it looks like you got it under control. What do you need me for?"

He poked the folder with his index finger.

"I need you to go over every inch of these records." He picked it up and held it out for her. "Find something."

She took it off him. It was heavy. A thought suddenly occurred to her.

"So, what am I looking at here. Are these all outgoing calls?"

Luke shook his head.

"Incoming and outgoing; for the last 12 months up until the beginning of this week.

Andy tried to hide her relief.

Her phone number wouldn't be in there at least.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and find something to do with Eric and Tara's murders in the most recent calls." He added, swivelling in his chair to face his desk.

Andy turned around, shouldering the door to open it and finding a desk to work at.

She dumped the load next to the keyboard and glared at it. This felt like it was going to be a huge waste of time.

Glancing around her, she pulled up Katie's case file on the screen.

She tried to avoid looking at her picture, but scanned through the information. The case file was full of holes.

_What had Phillip said yesterday?_

Katie was a volunteer, a tutor… None of that was mentioned. She didn't doubt her parents probably told the police everything they could.

Their statements were there and so was Phillip's. They even had a statement from the dean of her college, a few of her professors, and some from her friends.

So what was gnawing at Andy? She scanned through the witness statements over and over again. The day she went missing, she'd been to college, seen her friends, and never came home. She'd finished her last class at 4pm that day. Between that and coming home, somebody had taken her, murdered her, and dumped her body. She was found three days later in some shrubbery behind an industrial estate. She hadn't been hidden very well; the killer must have been in a rush.

This was noted in the lead investigator's notes.

Andy glanced at Luke's office to make sure he wasn't watching her. She searched through the case files for murders similar to Katie's and Tara's. She left Eric out of it. Honestly, she thought Eric was never meant to be a victim.

She scrolled to the bottom of the list. Katie Couperet. She made the search a little more vague and scrolled down to the bottom of the list again. The cases were ordered chronologically. Katie's was always the last case.

"What are you doing?" Sam's voice murmured in her ear.

Andy flinched violently.

"Pull yourself together." He laughed. "What are you working on?" he read the screen and Andy didn't try to hide it because it was too late.

"I thought you were supposed to be going through Phillip's phone records." He said accusingly.

"I know, I just…I couldn't help myself. There's no harm in looking. I think I might have found something. It's small, but…" she scrolled back down to Katie's case file.

"Sam, I've searched and searched, and the last case to pop up is always Katie Couperet."

"So?" he asked, kneeling on the floor next to her chair.

"So, it makes me think that she was the first."

He just looked at her, waiting for her to explain.

"If this is a serial," she swallowed, keeping her voice low. "Katie could be the first murder."

Sam rubbed his hand over his face and looked back at the computer screen.

"And if it _was_ a serial, which I'm not saying it was…"

Andy was nodding.

"Then the murderer had to be somebody that knew her." She finished his sentence.

"Which points back at Couperet."

Andy lost her enthusiasm.

"Ugh, no. That's not what I'm saying at all." She complained and Sam was already nodding.

"I know. I know you don't think it was them but all the evidence you're bringing up is sort of only helping Luke put a bull's eye on Couperet's head."

Andy threw her hands up in the air.

"Drug traffickers do not put make up and dresses on their victims!" she hissed.

"You don't know if Tara was wearing that before or after she was killed. She _did_ have a secret boyfriend, remember?" he reasoned.

Andy thought back to Rita, Tara's friend; the one who told them about Eric and Tara's hidden relationship.

She sighed.

"Fine. I'll get back to work. I'll just kill my instincts and take orders from the man." She opened her folder aggressively as Sam left her alone.

She watched him leave, waiting until he was out of sight.

She pulled Katie's file back up onto the screen and browsed for the name of her college.

She copied and pasted it into Google, writing down the address on a post-it and grabbing her coat. She saw Dov filling out paperwork a few desks over. She whistled to get his attention and motioned with her head for him to follow.

He fell into step beside her as she walked down the hall.

"You wanna visit a college campus with me?"

His eyes widened and he grinned.

"Uninhibited college chicks, hell yes."


	9. The FMP

A/N Disclaimer: I do not own Rookie Blue!

* * *

"Dov, I shouldn't have to remind you that you're not going to be shooting anyone with a water cannon, right?" Andy glanced sidelong at her friend. "And please don't be creepy around the students."

Dov cracked his fingers, nodding his head.

"Of course not." He grinned and Andy rolled her eyes at him. "What are we doing here, anyway?"

Andy cleared her throat as they made their way into York University's Keele Campus.

"I'm looking into something…unofficially."

Dov raised an eyebrow.

"Well, if we get thrown in the shit heap for this, I'm ratting you out, McNally." He joked.

She smiled back at him.

"Jesus Christ," Andy paused, looking around her.

"There are a lot of people here. Where the hell do I find Student Services?"

"Didn't you go to college, McNally? Students thrive on this. More people, the better."

"Yeah, I know. I went to UBC on the West Coast. I don't know, it just seems busier than what I remember of college."

"Well," Dov replied. "The rate of matriculating students going into tertiary education is on the rise."

Andy stared at him.

"What are you, a spokesperson for CBC Radio?" she chuckled.

He shook his head seriously.

"Come on, we'll ask somebody." He nudged her arm with his elbow and jogged up to a group of young women.

"Hello, ladies." He began but Andy caught up to him and commandeered the conversation.

"Excuse me," she gave Dov a look. "But I can you tell me where to find, like, the main reception? I need to find out some information on a past student."

"Yeah, sure," a blonde girl answered, rattling off a list of directions.

"Thanks," Andy scrawled them over her notepad, and grabbed Dov by the elbow.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"I'm only playing. I wasn't interested in them at all."

Andy snorted, disbelieving.

"Okay, so they were gorgeous, but you know me, maybe I can be a little creepy, but I mean no harm."

"Maybe you can stop being a little creepy, too. It scares people away. Besides, you have a girlfriend." They walked through some automatic doors and into a corridor, a line of elevators to their right side.

Dov pressed the button and pursed his lips.

Andy's fingers tingled with the sudden heat; of being out of the cold.

"Yeah," Dov mumbled. "It's getting complicated with Crystal."

"I'm sorry," Andy said sarcastically, the doors opening before them with a ding. "When has your relationship _not_ been complicated?"

They walked in, turning back to face the doors and jabbing the number 1.

"We could have just taken the stairs."

Andy shrugged, then narrowed her eyes at him.

"No changing the subject."

"Hey!" Dov held his gloved hands up in defence, his green eyes sparkling in the heat of the elevator. "If you can be illusive about why we're here, then I can be about Crystal."

"Everybody knows your background story with Crystal, Dov." Andy pointed out to her friend. "I pretty much know all about it anyway. The only part I never would have suspected was that you would get with her in the first place."

Dov looked a little ashamed.

"But," Andy quickly added. "There is nothing wrong with what you have. Everybody talks, Dov. People talk about everyone else's business to compensate for their own dirty laundry. Believe me. I know how it feels."

"Yeah," Dov gave her a gentle nudge with his fist. "I guess you do. But you didn't bring yours upon yourself. You didn't decide that Luke was gonna cheat."

Andy shrugged.

"I know it's not my fault what happened, I'm just saying," the ding sounded and the doors opened. "It's nobody's business but yours."

"Then why are you curious?" he rebuked, following her out into the corridor and down to the lobby.

"Because," she replied. "I'm your friend, and if things are complicated, I want to know if I can help."

Dov smiled.

"You know what? Callaghan made a real dick move when he let you go."

Andy managed an eye roll, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach that Luke never really let go of her. This had been made more and more obvious over the past two weeks.

"I know, right?" she said anyway. "An alcoholic father, a flighty mother and a history of commitment issues and naivety. What's not to love?"

"Hey, my parents were pot-smoking hippies, you know how hard it is to bring girls home to that?" he chuckled.

"Can I help you?" an older lady behind the desk interrupted them.

She was in her fifties, plump, bleached hair, and immaculate makeup. She had long red nails, wore glasses with a chain that went around her neck, and a bright blue blouse. Her name badge read Elizabeth.

Andy turned to face her.

"Sorry," she dug into her pocket for her badge, holding it up for the woman to examine. "I'm Officer McNally, this is Officer Epstein, we're from 15 division, and we're investigating a double homicide that occurred around two weeks ago."

"Oh," Elizabeth immediately got flustered. "I heard about that, but neither of your victims went to this school."

"I'm aware of that, I was just wondering if you could rustle up some old student files for me." She deposited her badge back in her pocket and glanced at Dov.

He had assumed the interview stance, hands on belt, scoping out the room.

"Of course, Officers, um…what is the student's name?"

"Katie Couperet." Andy decided not to glance back at Dov again in case he'd reverted to suspicion.

The woman behind the desk started typing away at her computer.

"You guys are lucky," she commented. "Back then, we had thousands of folders containing our student records. Now we keep it all on the system."

"Well, we appreciate anything that makes this easier." Andy smiled warmly at her.

"Took us ages to digitise everything. We're still trying to put hard copies into the system from forty years ago." She muttered, sounding a little bitter.

"Ah," Elizabeth said suddenly. "Couperet…Katie….Oh."

Her eyes glazed over a little and her expression turned sorrowful.

"Yes, I remember this. This poor young girl was murdered by her brother."

"That was never proven." Andy tried not to snap back at her.

It wasn't Elizabeth's fault.

"Well, now that somebody is giving it another go, maybe you can catch him this time?" she sounded hopeful.

"Anything can help find out what happened." Andy skirted around putting the blame on Phillip.

"I'll just have to check with my boss before I can give these to you. Then I'll go print them out." She stood up from the desk, and shuffled off through a door, closing it behind her.

Dov grabbed at Andy's jacket.

"Couperet, huh?" his eyebrows were practically at his hairline.

"I'm sorry. Like you said, if this goes downhill, I'll take full responsibility." She promised.

"You went behind Homicide's back? Bad ass." He smirked.

Andy tried not to smile.

"Now I remember why I brought you and not Chris."

"Why, cause I'm awesome and follow nobody's rules but my own? And the rule book is like Chris' bible?"

Andy bit her lip.

"Sort of. Plus, Gail has today off, so…"

"Ugh." Was what came out of his mouth, loud and high pitched.

The door opened and the Elizabeth came back out, followed by a young man, obviously at least twenty years her junior.

"How are you, Officers?" he nodded at them. "I'm Lionel Peters, the head of student administrative services. Can I ask what you need Miss Couperet's records for?"

"It's to aid in a murder investigation, sir."

He looked confused.

"But it was so long ago…"

"Yes, but her case may help with a more recent investigation, sir."

"Oh," he was nodding, and then shrugged.

"Absolutely. Liz, you have my permission. Go ahead."

They rode back to the station, Katie's student records sitting hot in Dov's lap.

* * *

"Dov!" Oliver called out to him from across the pit.

He had his arms stretched out in indignation.

"Where the hell did you go? We've got work to do."

Dov made to follow Oliver. Andy tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, remember what I said, right?" she held Katie's folder in her hands, gripping it tightly. "If you want help with…Crystal. Let me know. We can get drunk and be lame and single together. I give pretty bad advice. It'll be fun."

Dov laughed, shaking his head.

"I'll remember, McNally."

Andy watched him leave, then scanned cautiously over Luke's office. He wasn't there and she hoped he didn't completely notice her absence.

Letting out an anxious breath, she stopped at a desk and dropped the thick folder.

Katie was either a bad student, or a very good one.

Of course it was the latter. No average student would have a file this thick. It took longer than expected to print the whole thing out.

Bowing her head over the first page, Andy got stuck into it. Even if Luke noticed her, he'd think she was looking over Phil's phone records.

Andy highlighted every name she read in that file, which was a lot, and searched them on the criminal database.

Nothing came up.

She went back to the beginning and started again, sighing. She hoped all this work was going to pay off.

Katie was a stellar student. She volunteered, she tutored, and she was involved with so many clubs.

That expanded the suspect pool to, like, a thousand. Andy groaned internally and looked over at the coffee station longingly.

She examined Katie's class schedule and compared it with the time she went missing twelve years ago.

She had been in between classes when she'd gone missing. It was only an hour gap, and she lived too far away from campus to go home for that time so she most likely stayed and waited for her next class. Normally. But something changed that day, something that nobody had noticed. Nobody had realised she'd left until she didn't show up to her next class.

This made Andy believe she was led off campus, by someone she knew. Otherwise, she would have been at her next class where her friend noticed her absence.

This just cemented Andy's idea that Katie knew her killer.

She perused through the next page. Katie had been involved with the Freshman Mentoring Program, or FMP. It was a program that allowed sophomores to tutor Freshman in first year subjects if they were struggling. The program even extended to local high schools.

A list of her students ran down the page in block letters.

Andrew Summers, Carl DeLuca, Jessica Reid, and Lionel Peters.

Something clicked in Andy's brain. Lionel Peters. She searched his name but he came up with no criminal record to speak of.

She searched Jessica, although the killer wasn't likely to be a female.

Then, Carl; nothing either. Lastly, Andrew Summers; nada.

She'd spoken to Lionel Peters at the University. He'd given her authorisation to take Katie's file.

Andy sprung from her seat and raced to the parking lot, throwing herself into the squad car.

She sped down to the end of the road; everything a blur in her peripheral vision.

* * *

Maybe she'd been a little hasty.

Andy stood at the end of the corridor facing the lobby she'd been in with Dov not two hours ago. So what if Katie tutored Lionel? That didn't make him a killer. But it sure looked bad.

She steeled herself anyway and strode down to Elizabeth's desk. Elizabeth looked up at her, startled.

"Off-Officer? What can I help you with?"

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Peters, thank you."

Elizabeth got up from her seat shakily and pushed through the door behind her, calling out for Lionel. There was silence before Elizabeth backed up, letting Lionel through the door.

"Officer, what can I do for you?"

"I think you know what this is about, Mr Peters." She answered, watching him like a hawk.

She motioned towards the empty hallway.

"Would you care to talk privately for a moment?"

Lionel looked suddenly pale, following Andy down the hall. Andy kept him at a distance, never turned her back on him. Just in case.

But he seemed so meek.

He leaned back against the wall, and held his arms out in question.

"Katie Couperet tutored you when you were a freshman at this school?" Andy started off.

"Yes. I'm sure you read about that in her file." He answered easily. "Listen, I've got nothing to hide."

"You weren't questioned by police during her murder investigation, though, were you?"

"No, I wasn't. But that's not my fault that whoever was in charge was incompetent. Nobody ever talked to me about Katie." He looked up at Andy through his eyelashes.

He looked nervous.

"I don't want to be implicated in something that I didn't do. So I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Andy folded her arms then and stared at him, tried to catch his eye. He rubbed at his face, looking distressed.

"Where were you on the day she went missing?"

"How would I remember when that was—"

"April twenty-second, 2001." Andy provided, her voice edged.

Lionel looked up at the ceiling.

"I was a freshman, I barely ever went to class, who the hell knows where I was? I don't remember."

Andy chewed on her lip for a moment then sucked in a breath.

"How well did you know Katie? Did you like her?"

Lionel rolled his eyes.

"I didn't have a creepy crush on her or anything. She was my tutor. Yeah, she was pretty, but I had a girlfriend. Charlie."

Andy looked at him and let her arms fall to her sides.

"Do you know her brother, Phillip Couperet?"

He shook his head.

"If you had an alibi, wouldn't you have had it ready if the police ever did talk to you?"

Lionel shrugged.

"When nobody noticed or bothered to interview me, I forgot about it. I thought it was over with. They got her brother for it, didn't they? Look, I spent most of my time with Charlie in those days. You can talk to her. Besides that, I have nothing else to say. Her name is Charlie, short for Charlotte. Charlotte Hobbs."

Andy looked over him once more.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I don't remember much. If you want to interrogate me, I'm getting a lawyer. Besides, I'm not the only person she probably tutored."

Andy watched him flee back to the lobby, running a hand through his auburn hair.

She pursed her lips and scribbled down Charlotte's name for future reference.

* * *

"Andrew is dead." Said a confused elderly voice over the phone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't aware of that." Andy apologised, refraining from banging her head on the table.

"Can I ask what happened?"

Andrew's mother, Hazel Summers spoke softly into the phone.

"Car accident back in 2006. He'd just gotten a position in a law firm he'd interned at when he was hit and killed by a drunk driver in a Honda. Go figure."

Andy cringed at herself.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Mrs Summers. Thank you for your time." She quickly hung up after that, digging her biro into the page and crossing out Andrew's name.

The thing that bugged Andy the most was that these people were never interviewed when Katie was murdered. Talk about shitty police work.

This could have been cleared up over a decade ago.

She'd managed to get addresses and phone numbers for the remaining students of Katie's.

Andrew was dead, and Jessica was out of town for that whole week in hospital after getting her appendix out. Lionel was still a grey area but she had yet to find Carl.

She read his details and considered what to do. She'd rather not call him and instead see him in person. For the third time that day, she ventured out on the road, keying his address in her GPS.

He lived in an apartment building in downtown Toronto. She buzzed on his name but there was no answer. She buzzed on his neighbour. A Mr. Masuka.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm Officer McNally from 15 division. Would you mind coming downstairs to let me in?"

The man sounded sceptical over the intercom. But he agreed, and he looked slightly more relaxed when he saw her through the door. Then he knew it wasn't some prank.

"We can just talk here if you like," Andy offered. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your neighbour, Carl DeLuca. Do you know much about him?"

Mr. Masuka was in his mid-forties, unmarried, but lived with his daughter. His English was slightly rusty.

"I don't see him a lot." He answers, leaning against the door as Andy looked up at him from the stoop.

"Is he a nice guy?"

He paused, looking thoughtful.

"Uh, yes," he nodded, smiling. "He's very friendly. My daughter had nobody to talk to. When we move here, she was lonely. He was very nice to her."

A shiver ran down Andy's spine, but she smiled anyway.

"Sure, he sounds like a nice guy. Do you know when he'll be home? Is he at work right now?"

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms.

"I know he work. Um," he put his finger to his pursed lips, then pointed to his right.

Andy glanced at the direction he was indicating.

"Just two blocks that way. _Quinn's_. Sometimes he bring us food after work."

"Okay," she wrote down the name of what sounded like a restaurant or fast food place

"Is he in trouble?" Mr Masuka's greying hair fell over his eyes. "He very nice man."

Andy smiled and tried to placate the warm neighbour. The closer she played this to her chest, the better it would be for everyone involved.

"Not at all, Mr Masuka."

_Not yet, anyway._

* * *

_Quinn's Bar and Grill_ stood in between a chemist, and a clothing boutique. It was subtle, and rustic.

The floor was polished timber, and all the tables and chairs were made of thick varnished wood.

They had stools sitting at the bar that were literally chunks of tree, coated with lacquer.

Andy looked around for a moment; it was obviously early. They must have only just opened given how quiet it was.

A young man was wiping down the bar in a crisp black button down. He threw the towel over his shoulder as he noticed Andy coming in.

"Lunch for one, officer?" he dug into his pocket and produced his notepad and a pen.

Andy held her hands up and shook her head.

"I'm not here to eat. I'm looking for somebody. Does Carl DeLuca work here?"

The boy motioned with his head to the kitchen; a narrow rectangular window framed with stainless steel. There was somebody in there, the clinking of metal and glass filling the room.

"He's just prepping for the day. You wanna follow me?" he dropped his towel on the bar and waited for Andy to follow.

He pushed the swinging door and held it open for her.

"Hey, Carl, there's a policewoman here to see you."

There was a tall stainless steel shelf to Andy's left, and the wall to the right.

Carl popped his head around the corner of the end of the shelf.

"Officer," he smiled, wiping his hands on a towel he had tucked into the pocket on his dirty apron.

"I'm Carl. What can I do for you?" he put his hand out and she took it, shaking it firmly.

"I'm Officer McNally from fifteen division. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

Carl nodded, at ease.

"Sure, you wanna just talk to me while I work? I have a lot to get done."

"That's fine." Andy agreed, following him around the corner to his work bench.

He had a large fish on a cutting board, and a filleting knife next to it.

"If you want, I can use a butter knife…" he said, touching the blade.

Andy shook her head.

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask you about Katie Couperet. A girl that was murdered twelve years ago."

Carl glanced back at her, confused.

"Wow, so you guys decided to open that back up? It's about time." He bent over the fish, carefully running the blade between the skin and the flesh.

"We're just running some preliminary investigations at this point." Andy replied, watching him.

He shrugged.

"Something is better than nothing, I guess."

"So, you knew Katie."

"Yeah," he made a face. "Of course I did. She was my tutor in college."

"Did she ever share anything with you about her personal life? Her brother?"

Carl shook his head. His dark hair was slicked back with gel.

"Not really."

Andy shifted her weight to the other foot.

"According to her records, she was tutoring you in Psychology. Why didn't you pursue that after graduating?"

Carl smirked.

"You mean, why am I in a menial job way below my knowledge and skill set?" he chuckled.

"Katie was a good tutor, but she didn't like Psych much either. That's why she changed to Law. Have you ever studied Psych? Not all it's cracked up to be."

Andy had studied psychology, but she let him continue.

"I don't know. It seemed a bit pointless. I changed my mind."

"Did it have anything to do with Katie's passing? I'm sure that had an impact." She was trying to get an emotional response from him.

Something telling.

He shrugged again and stuck the end of the knife in the board, leaning his hand on the handle. He looked back at Andy.

"Sure it did. She was sort of my friend."

Andy nodded.

"Why are you investigating this again, anyway?" he frowned at her.

"There may be a connection to a recent homicide investigation."

Carl pressed his lips together, his eyes wandered off to the ceiling, pondering…

"Don't you people usually come with partners and detective and all that?"

Andy swallowed.

"Not always."

Carl seemed to watched her for a little longer than necessary, like he was deducing something. Andy fidgeted with her jacket sleeve.

"You're a very curious person," he shook his finger at her accusingly. "You're probably a great cop."

"Thank you." She brushed it off. "So, you never met Phillip Couperet?"

"Sure I met him. Katie tutored at her house and he was there sometimes. Pretty nice guy. Didn't talk much."

"How come you were never interviewed by police back then?" Andy pushed.

Carl blew air through his lips, his eyes wide as he thought back.

"I have no idea. Probably because I hadn't had a session with her for over two months. I was starting to do well in class, and my parents could barely afford it as it was."

He picked his knife back up and continued his work.

"Did you ever speak to Phil personally?"

"Why, do you think he's involved with these new murders?"

Andy nodded.

"Possibly. We just want to get all the facts straight. We want a perspective of his character from someone who isn't a cop."

Carl chuckled again.

"Well, he was always nice to me." He glanced back at Andy with a warm smile.

His eyes, a bright blue, sunk into Andy's.

He looked honest.

"I believe you. I've met him before, too."

"I'm sorry, Officer. I don't have much to tell you." He sighed.

"I know it was a long time ago." She nodded. "That's what makes this hard. People forget things, details."

Carl looked sympathetic.

The room was silent, the fluorescent light flickered above them.

"Did you ever have a romantic relationship with Katie?" Andy blurted.

Carl's knife slipped and he pulled his hand back from the fish. Blood welled along his right index finger. He dropped the knife from his opposite hand.

"No, of course not." He murmured, brushing past Andy to the sink.

"Are you okay?" she asked, watching him rinse it off.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just a boo-boo." He shook his head. "Five years in this job and I still always manage to slice myself."

He brought his hand out of the sink, holding his wound up to the light, examining it without an ounce of emotion.

"I'm pretty used to it now." He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his finger.

"Well, thank you for your time." Andy smiled.

Carl returned it and waved goodbye as she made her way back out.


	10. The Alibi

A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own rookie blue! Hey, guys! Sorry about the late update! Hope you enjoy, and reviews are much appreciated. :D

* * *

"What? They can't say they still love each other and then _not_ get back together. That's not poetic, that's tragic."

Andy glared at the T.V. screen, the end credits of her favourite show rolling down the screen. A stirring sensation of disappointment and anxiety pulsed inside her.

"Isn't that the definition of an epic love story? That it's tragic?" Traci reasoned, cradling her herbal tea.

Andy looked over at her. Traci had her legs slung over the arm of the love seat.

"But it's so…ugh. Like, there's enough pain in the world, there have to be happy endings. Stuff like this may be more realistic, but I like having hope that not everything is lost."

Andy sculled the rest of her wine down and dragged herself off the sofa. As if this week hadn't been hard enough, her favourite drama show had to go off the rails as well.

Of course she knew that it wasn't that important; it was just the timing. Nothing felt like it was going right at the moment.

Andy was neck-deep in this case. She didn't go a night without dreaming about the victims and the horrible ways in which they died. Every step she took, every breath, was this case.

Even now, it seeped back to her attention as she placed her empty wineglass on the dish rack. She caught sight of the case file she'd left on the kitchen counter.

Lionel Peters and Carl DeLuca. They could be the key to solve this. Even if neither of them were guilty, they still might hold vital information and they just didn't know it.

She gazed at the file, thinking about both young men. Lionel had a girlfriend and Carl had ceased his tutoring lessons two months before Katie was murdered. Andy hadn't been able to get hold of Charlotte Hobbs yet, but she'd managed to find a phone number for Carl's mother. She backed up Carl's story; he had been doing better at school plus he spent a lot of his time back then at his convalescent uncle's farm in Southern Ontario.

Andy broke from her reverie when she heard Traci get up from her seat, groaning tiredly. She quickly piled her mail on top of the file. She wasn't authorised to have it. She shoved the pile of mail, papers, a book, and the file into her backpack before Traci saw.

"I guess I'm gonna head home now. Feeling pretty pooped."

Andy spun around and pulled her in for a hug.

"Thanks for coming over." Andy sighed.

Traci rubbed her back affectionately.

"That's okay. Call me whenever, okay?" she pulled back.

"Back at you. You're the mom-to-be. Any weird cravings or new sex kinks, you gotta call me right away and let me know."

Traci laughed and gave her wink as she picked up her purse and strode out the door. Andy shuffled slowly over to the window and watched Traci get into her car and drive away. Something niggled in the back of her mind that left her feeling on edge. Now that she was alone, the dark anxiety was seeping back into her conscious.

She closed the curtains then and went and locked her front door.

She gnawed on her lip as she got ready for bed. She wondered if Phillip had been making any progress. She also wondered if Luke had noticed that she hadn't even touched those phone records yet. Hopefully not; she didn't feel like getting chewed out, especially when she was having trouble convincing herself that what she was doing was right.

Every other moment Andy was almost certain of her instincts, and then she would think back about what she felt, what she'd done, and then thought the opposite. Like she'd been caught in the heat of the moment and maybe she wasn't as sure as she thought she was.

Luke's cynicism wasn't helping, either, nor was his stubbornness to accepting Andy's theories.

Maybe after this case was finished, he'd be back to normal, too. She didn't want him to leave again as long as he stopped being a jackass.

Andy's head thumped as she put her head down.

People were confusing. Everybody had an ulterior motive. It's like nobody was ever honest.

It gave her a headache.

* * *

Andy was straight on the coffee when she got to work the next morning. She didn't have time for breakfast when she'd left home, so she'd sunk to eating the stale donuts left over in the kitchen.

"Be careful." Sam came in then. "Oliver bit into one of those this morning and nearly chipped a tooth. God knows how long they've been sitting there."

Andy examined it, debating whether or not she was desperate enough. She sighed and dropped it into the trash can then pushed the box in after it.

She picked up her coffee and rested it against her chin so she could breathe in the aroma. Sam was fiddling with the machine beside her to make his own cup.

"So," he said suddenly, loudly.

Andy looked at him.

"What?"

"You tell me. You're completely out of it. Since when do you try to eat stale donuts in the break room? You sleeping okay?"

Andy made a face and chuckled mirthlessly.

"Sure, I am." She pushed away from the bench to avoid any more interrogation.

She didn't want Sam knowing she was sort of losing it. He'd ask her to pull herself off the case, which she wouldn't do. And then he'd probably go to Frank. Not to stab her in the back but because he cared.

_God, why does he have to care?!_ She groaned internally as he followed her into parade.

She could _feel_ his eyes on her back.

"Andy," Luke's voice bellowed from the detective's office.

She looked back, and so did Sam. Then they shared a look. She swallowed hard and made to head over. Sam caught her arm gently.

"You okay?"

She nodded and he let go, giving her a quick smile. The muscles in his jaw tensed. Andy kept nodding to herself until she got into Luke's office, preparing for a full on bitch session.

He looked up from his paper work, which was all he ever seemed to be doing these days.

"Hey," he acknowledged her.

_Okay,_ she thought. _So, maybe this won't be so bad._

"How far have you gotten with those phone records? Anything yet?" he was signing his name on the bottom of a form.

"Um, nothing yet. Sorry. I'm still going." She lied. "What about you?" she pointed back to him.

He looked up at her, grinning. He looked like the old Luke for a second. He looked happier now than he'd looked in a long time.

"Am I missing something?" she murmured when he didn't respond.

He exploded then.

"We got a match!" he pointed his biro at her as if to emphasise it.

"You got a match on the drugs you found on Phillip?" her eyes went wide.

Of course they would be the same. Of course Eric was working for Phillip. But this was happening too fast.

Luke nodded and clapped his hands together, ecstatic.

"Couldn't have done it without you, McNally." He strode forward and she quickly put her coffee cup down before he engulfed her in a hug.

"We've got a warrant for his arrest." He mumbled into her hair.

She patted his back awkwardly and he let her go.

"I want you to come with me."

"Uhh…" she tried to think of an excuse but her mind blanked.

"Come on," he stepped back to grab his coat and then put his hand on her back, guiding her out of the office.

His hand didn't move even as they walked by everyone in the parade room. She caught Sam's eye on the way out but couldn't read his expression. Probably confusion, and a little bit of suspicion.

"Shouldn't we have more bodies with us? What if he's hostile?"

Luke threw his head back and laughed. It looked surreal, and a bit over the top. He'd passed the point of sleep deprivation and was knocking on insanity's door right now.

"We'll be fine. The brothers don't put up a fight with cops on the street. They only rip us to shreds in court."

* * *

Luke let Andy drive, surprisingly. Whenever they had a case together, it was usually Luke that drove. It was his way of having control when the situation was out of control, especially when they were together.

They stopped at Couperet's house first. The door was open.

It was lavish, inside and out. It was also messy.

Phillip obviously didn't clean up after himself much. The place was a pigsty. Andy hated it, but got her gun out when Luke motioned for her to. He got out his gun and they searched through the house. The met back in the kitchen towards the back of the house and heard a thumping noise, like something sharp against something dull.

An axe against wood.

They ran to the back door and opened it.

Phillip was in the backyard, cutting firewood.

"Put down the axe, Couperet." Luke said sternly as Phillip looked up only in slight surprise.

He immediately dropped the axe about four feet away from him and walked close to the pair.

"I'm sorry," he pulled his hands up to place them behind his head without either of them asking. Andy guessed he was used to the protocol.

She holstered her gun and gave Phillip a look as Luke held his gun to him still. Phillip winked at her and she gritted her teeth as she walked around him, pulled one hand down from his head at a time and cuffed them.

Luke finally put his gun away then and pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it up in front of Phillip's face.

"We've got a warrant for your arrest, Phillip Couperet. Under suspicion of drug trafficking, and suspicion of conspiracy to murder Eric Jorgensen and Tara Hunter."

* * *

Andy guided Phillip through the carport and into booking. She searched him and claimed all his belongings, dropping them in a plastic tray by the desk as Luke watched.

"Put him into a cell for now. Let him stew for a bit." Luke ordered, unfolding his arms and disappearing through the door.

Andy watched him leave and then sighed.

"That guy is a jackass." Phillip said matter-of-factly.

Andy sniggered but then caught herself and shook her head.

"You shouldn't be making jokes, Phillip. This is serious." She murmured, unlocking the cell and pulling it open. She unlocked his cuffs and he walked in, rubbing at his wrists. Andy pulled the cell door closed.

"I know," he said, turning around to face her and curling his hands around the bars.

Andy watched him for a moment and he looked back just as levelly.

"You're in deep shit, Phillip." She leaned closer so nobody would hear her. "Pull yourself together and get a lawyer." She hissed, backing away and fleeing before he could say anything else.

So far he hadn't given away anything about their conversations. Andy was peaking. She felt as rigid as a pole as she walked back into the barn.

Phillip Couperet was a criminal, and who knows, maybe he had killed. But he didn't kill Eric and Tara. As far as Andy was concerned, Phillip would never kill kids. Not that that should redeem him, but at least it cleared his name on this count.

Phillip wasn't psychotic; he valued human life. He valued his sister. There is no way he could do this.

Andy was sure Tara and Eric's murders were linked to Katie's. Phillip couldn't have been the one to kill his sister. He was innocent.

Andy spotted her thick folder of Phillip's phone records and sat down at the desk, grabbing a stack of pages and dropping them in front of her.

She looked up at Luke's desk. He was busy, his head bent over his work. Everybody around her was busy and quiet. It was only her that was having this internal scream.

It was loud inside her head and she couldn't focus.

She propped her elbows on the desk and cradled her head in her hands, frustrated.

"Hey," Sam put his hand on her shoulder.

She gasped, eyes wide.

"Sorry." He apologised, noticing how she'd gone pale as a sheet.

"What is it? If it's about arresting Couperet, I don't wanna talk about it." she asked breathlessly.

Sam shook his head without confusion. He must have found out already.

"There's something I think you'll want to be a part of." He said instead.

Andy frowned, puzzled.

Sam motioned for her to follow him.

* * *

"Are we the only people here?" Andy asked the priest as he clasped his hands together.

"Yes, dear."

She pressed her lips together, swallowing that ball of sorrow and pity and anger. The wind whipped unforgivingly around them. They were up on a hill in the cemetery, catching the full brunt of the chill.

The trees around them were naked and skeletal. It all looked fitting for the occasion. Andy glanced behind her then as Sam came walking up the hill, holding a bouquet of lilies.

Her mouth fell open slightly as she watched him place them on Janice's coffin.

Sam fell back into place beside her then, and the priest began his speech.

His words faded into the background as Andy closed her eyes and felt the warm signature of tears falling down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, and without looking, felt for Sam's hand, grasping it.

He squeezed her hand back tightly.

She couldn't believe he'd remembered the lilies.

She shook slightly in the wind, the cold, and the sadness. Janice Forester was finally being laid to rest, as the priest vowed.

"Next to her beloved son."

Andy's eyes darted toward the priest, then behind him.

_Here lies Nathan Forester_

_Beloved Son and Friend_

"_To be nobody but _

_yourself in a world _

_which is doing its best day and night to make you like _

_everybody else means to fight the hardest battle _

_which any human being can fight and never stop fighting."_

_-e.e. Cummings_

Nathan Forester's grave stone resonated with Andy. Janice must have chosen that poem for her son. Her last message to him was that she understood. He fought hard. So did Janice. They fought just to stay themselves, to stay human. Nathan fought the drugs. Janice fought grief.

Andy was waging a losing battle with her own demons. She fought hard to be a good cop without losing herself in the process.

There were many ways in which people could lose themselves when it feels like the whole world is trying to get you to be something that you're not. To Andy, sometimes it felt like the world was working against her; so many things would get in her way, cause her to make a decision opposite to what she planned, possibly changing who she really is in the process.

They lowered Janice's coffin into the ground slowly. Sam's wreath sat atop it, so Janice knew that somebody cared, somebody would miss her now that she's gone.

Andy looked away before they started piling the dirt into the grave. She let go of Sam's hand and rubbed her own hands over her face as if she could rub the day off.

"I feel awful, you know?" she muttered into her cupped hands.

"Nobody likes funerals." Sam offered softly.

She shook her head in response.

"No, it's just…I feel like this was more for me than it was for Janice. It felt like it was more to ease my conscience than to really send her off. He didn't say anything about her. I barely knew her and she just left."

She looked at Sam them, hoping he didn't catch the unintended meaning of her last words.

"Are we still talking about Janice?"

Andy looked down at her boots and shrugged. That had kind of slipped out, but she wasn't ready to admit that she felt some weird similarity of affection towards Janice as she did to her estranged mother.

"Listen," Sam continued, "Funerals are never for the dead anyway. They're for the living. It's just a way to say goodbye, to make us feel and know that we won't forget them. We did that."

Andy wiped at her eye and nodded.

"How come you're so good with this stuff?" she asked accusingly.

Sam just smiled easily.

"I know that you're gonna feel guilty no matter what. I just want to help you overcome it. You're a good cop and a good person."

"Really?" she murmured seriously, feeling more vulnerable than she had in a while.

"The best." Sam clarified.

That made her smile.

Andy looked back at their cruiser.

"We should probably get back."

* * *

Sam and Andy got back to the barn at eleven.

Chris was working the front desk when they came in and he called out for her when he caught sight of her.

"Hey! Andy!" he motioned with his head for her to come over.

Sam shrugged and made his way over to the kitchen for more coffee.

"What's up?" she slapped her hands down on the reception desk.

"Oh, uh," he fumbled with a stack of papers in front of him before he plucked a sticky note from the pile and handed it to her.

She took it and read.

"She said her name was Charlotte Hobbs and that she wanted to talk to you about a Lionel." Chris told her.

She glanced at him then back at the note.

"Thanks, Chris." She said absently as she walked back into the pit.

She dialled the number for Charlotte Hobbs scrawled across the piece of paper.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.

"Hi, is this Charlotte Hobbs?" Andy replied, taking a seat at her desk.

"Yeah, whose this?" the voice on the other end replied.

"This is Andy McNally from fifteen division. You left a message at the station for me to contact you about Lionel Peters, your ex?"

"Yeah, um. I was friends with Lionel in college and he told me he needed me to give him an alibi. I don't wanna get in any trouble, so I figured I'd let you know personally that we were never together. Honestly, we only hung out a couple times Freshman year."

Andy's heart sped up in response.

"Do you know why he would lie to us?" she asked.

Charlotte sighed loudly.

"I honestly have no idea. I don't really want to get involved."

"Thank you, Miss Hobbs." Andy murmured, internally dismissing any chance of interrogating the woman. "If he tries to contact you again, please let us know." She pressed the end call button and scanned the room for Swarek. She spotted him coming out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee. She smiled as he handed her one. She caught him eyeing the sticky note as he brought the cup to his lips. She folded it into her palm.

"Something wrong?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

Andy breathed in and hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue.

"Maybe I've been colouring outside the lines." She provided vaguely, setting her coffee down.

Sam nodded once.

"Okay." Was all he said as he waited for her to specify.

"I just need to borrow the squad keys." She bit her lip and noticed how his eyes darted down to her mouth then back to her eyes.

"You know what? I feel like a bit of rebellion today, too."

"You wanna come with me?" she asked, surprised as they fell into step together.

Sam produced his keys and spun the key ring around his forefinger.

"You're not colouring outside the lines without me there."


	11. The Guilty Cop and the Innocent Crim

A/N: I do not own rookie blue! I had written the last chapter and this one as a whole chapter, but thought I better split it because it got too long. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are appreciated! :D

* * *

After an unsuccessful attempt at finding him at work, Andy opened up the memo application on her phone and found Lionel's home address, figuring he'd be there instead.

Sam coasted down the street and killed the engine about two houses down.

"So, you're thinking this guy, Lionel, had a crush on Katie in college and then killed her when she didn't return the affections?"

Andy grimaced.

"Sort of. I think he has a delusion. He thinks that these women he likes, like him back. He gets obsessed with them, and to keep them, he kills them."

"You got all that from meeting him just once?" Sam asked, unconvinced.

"I met him twice." Andy winced, waiting for Sam to admonish.

He remained silent.

"I got that vibe from the case itself." Andy answered finally, opening her door.

Sam followed and met her eyes across the roof of the car.

"Alright." He agreed.

"That's it?" she paused, disbelieving.

"What?" he stopped too, pulling on his gloves.

"You just believe me? Just like that?"

He nodded, the corners of his mouth pulled down as he thought for a moment.

"McNally, you've proven me wrong before. You've proven yourself right many times more. I think my days would be a lot easier if I just went along with it."

Andy grinned, feeling a little more than satisfied with that little ego boost.

"You're just full of compliments today, aren't ya?" she sidled up to him as he stepped onto the kerb, clapping her hand on his shoulder.

Sam smirked and they shuffled their way over the icy sidewalk and up Lionel's cracked concrete driveway.

Andy walked up to the door while Sam stood a few feet back, scoping the rest of the property.

"Mr. Peters?" she knocked. "It's Andy McNally, I spoke to you the other day about Katie Couperet. Can you let me in, please?" she called through the door, giving it another firm wrap with her knuckles.

She looked back at Sam who was rubbing his hands together and cupping them over his mouth for warmth.

"Mr Peters!" she called again, landing her fist harder against the wood.

A screen door slammed in the distance and she cursed, spinning around to tell Sam who had already gone left down the side of the house. Andy jumped off the porch and ran the opposite way to trap Lionel between them.

He came around the corner then and balked when he saw Andy running towards him.

"Sam!" she yelled. "I got him!"

Lionel stopped and looked back as Sam appeared behind him, blocking his escape.

"Lionel, come on, man. Let's work this out." Andy held her hands up, offering a truce.

Lionel whipped his head back to look at Sam again, then charged forward unexpectedly, grabbing Andy's arm.

"Hey!" Sam shouted.

"Please, I didn't kill her!" he shook her, desperation the only thing she could hear in his voice.

"You gotta believe me." Andy grabbed his wrist, prying it off her.

She grasped the back of his arm with her other hand and pushed, releasing his grip on her. Pushing down harder, he bent forward from the force and she managed to twist his arm up and behind his back.

"Okay, okay!" he relinquished. "You've got me. Please don't hurt me."

Sam holstered his gun that Andy didn't even realise he'd drawn.

"Get on your knees," she ordered and he did.

He offered his other arm to her and she pulled it behind his back like the other, cuffing him immediately.

"You okay?" Sam asked, a little breathless.

Andy nodded without adding anything else, and pulled Lionel up onto his feet, turning him around and pushing him back against the brick of the house.

"Why did you lie to me about Charlotte Hobbs? She was never your girlfriend." Andy went straight to the point.

"Listen, I didn't do anything, I swear." He whined.

"I'm pretty sure we could do you for assaulting a police officer and obstruction of justice." Sam deadpanned.

Andy continued.

"Did you kill Katie?"

"No." he shook his head, spluttering out apologies as he began to sob.

Andy let out a long breath and rolled her eyes.

"What should we do?" Andy shrugged, looking at Sam.

His brows were pulled together with uncertainty as he looked at her, then back at Lionel, deciding.

"Cut him loose." He ground regrettably. "That's the thing about colouring outside the lines, McNally. It bites you in the ass when it comes to the punch."

Andy released Lionel out of his cuffs.

"Why should I believe you when you say you didn't do it? You lied about Charlotte." Andy pressed, depositing her cuffs back in her belt.

"I lied about Charlotte because I liked Katie, okay?" he ran his hands through his hair, a habit Andy noticed he did a lot when he was stressed.

"We went out on a date once but she didn't like me back. It was a pity thing. I figured if you thought I had a girlfriend I wouldn't look so desperate and homicidal." He rubbed his forehead and sighed loudly.

"Listen, I can go down to the station and make a statement if you want." He offered, then looked directly at Andy.

Sam took a step towards him in warning.

"I'm sorry, officer." He said although he was looking at Sam now, as if trying to convey he meant no harm.

He looked back at Andy then and said, "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Andy just stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity.

"Come on," she said to Sam as he glared at Lionel, considering.

"We'll be in touch." he said finally before following Andy out onto the sidewalk.

One they were out of earshot, Sam leaned into Andy's side.

"You sure that was a good idea?" he questioned, his thumb pointing back in the direction they came.

Andy shrugged.

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't." she opened her door and paused with her hand on it, one foot inside. "We can't do much about it without letting people know. Besides, he seemed to be telling the truth."

Sam snorted.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

Back at the station, things had taken a turn.

Luke was in a tirade, and it looked like Andy was getting caught in the path of it. It looked like he'd just finished a row with Frank as he came storming out of the Staff Sergeant's office. Frank looked exasperated as he followed Luke.

Sam and Andy watched as he strode angrily towards them, his eyes focused intently on Andy. She noticed as Sam angled his body in front of hers slightly, as if he was unaware he was doing it.

Luke stopped before them; that old familiar shade of jealousy in his eyes, tinged with the stress and anger of the case.

"Maybe if you'd been doing your job," he pointed to the untouched folder on Andy's desk. "This case wouldn't be going down the fucking toilet right now."

Andy straightened her posture, matching his glare with her own. Sam backed off slightly.

"What happened? You're gonna blame me for some legal technicality, right?"

Luke closed his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth.

"We have to cut Couperet loose."

"What?" Andy's demeanour slackened as her confusion outweighed her confidence. "Why?"

"Because there's not enough to hold him on." He spat. "The warrant search on his house didn't find anything but legitimate banking and business records."

Andy folded her arms in front of her and shrugged at him.

"So, what, you want me to plant some evidence in his house? Why the hell are you angry at me?" she stuck her tongue in her cheek, waiting for an explanation.

He visibly and silently fumed, obviously grasping for a reason to be pissed with her.

She already knew the only reason he was angry had nothing to do with the case, and everything to do with Sam.

"If you weren't always disappearing throughout the day to do _god_ knows what," he glanced at Sam, unable to help himself. "Maybe I wouldn't be carrying all the slack. Maybe we could actually get somewhere with this."

Andy opened her mouth then closed it, reconsidering.

"Oh, you got something to say?" he leaned back, acting superior. "Please share."

Andy ground her teeth together.

"I've told you from the beginning that this was serial and not mob-related. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason we can't pin Couperet and the Brothers, is because they actually didn't fucking _do_ it?"

Luke smirked and rolled his eyes.

"If you want to stay on this case," he leaned forward to whisper threateningly. "I suggest you quit second-guessing me, officer."

Sam took a step forward then, a subtle warning for Luke to back off.

But he ignored the T.O's proximity and turned on his heel, marching back to his office.

"You can cut Couperet loose." He called over his shoulder.

Andy let her arms fall at her sides, drained from the ordeal. She made her way to the lock up. Phillip was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

"Hey," Andy tapped on the bars to get his attention.

He looked up at her and smiled.

"We're cutting you loose. Come on."

He got up from his feet with some effort, groaning tiredly.

"You never got a lawyer, did you?" she asked as he came out.

She closed the cell door behind him. He pouted and shrugged.

"You aren't stupid enough to have the drugs on you by accident."

"Aren't I, officer?" he replied innocently, folding his arms. "If I'm free to go…"

Andy nodded and guided him through to the front desk; the entire station full of officers watching them with intrigue. Andy stopped him just before he walked through the front doors.

"You did this to prove to me you were innocent, didn't you?"

Phillip looked at her and smiled genuinely. There was something ancient and sorrowful in his smile. It was a knowing smile.

"You're a good cop."

* * *

Andy slumped back into an office chair and leaned her chin against her hand. Neither her or Sam said a word as they let Luke's words sink in.

"This is getting ridiculous," she said finally, looking up at her partner perched on the desk. "It's like this case is never-ending."

Sam looked down at the floor.

"A brutal murderer is out there. They're always caught, no matter how hard they try to stay hidden. They slip up somewhere." Sam paused. "Kate Navatski's killer slipped up. Dora Singh's kidnapper slipped up. Zoe Martinelli's killer slipped up." He rattled off the names of victims of serial killers Andy had helped stop on this job.

What separated Sam from anybody else, is that he said the victim's names. It was they who were important. Not the killers themselves.

Andy brought her hands to her lap, scraping away at the clear varnish painted on her nails. She thought back to the bright red varnish on Tara's nails.

"This guy is a monster." She hadn't really addressed the killer this way before, giving him substance.

"Whoever it is, serial or not, they treated those kids like animals. They'll get what's coming to them."

Andy nodded.

"I hope you're right." She echoed Sam's words from earlier.

"When have you ever doubted me?" he winked.

Andy snorted then replied seriously, "Never."

* * *

Andy was on shift late with Luke. Sam's shift finished two hours before hers but he offered to stay back, stating there was a lot of work to do.

Frank told him to go home, and so did Andy.

"I'll be round The Penny when you finish, alright?" he gently touched the back of her hand.

She had to stop herself from closing her eyes and revelling in that small touch. It was like a sigh of relief and a burst of adrenaline all at once.

"I'll definitely be there. You're buying the first round." She said as he backed away slowly, smiling at her cheekily.

"Only a gentleman would do that, McNally." He winked.

_God_, she thought.

He had a habit of winking and unfortunately dirty thoughts always followed in Andy's mind when he did.

It was unstoppable, and she had an inkling he knew how to make her uncomfortable.

She cleared her throat and continued combing through Couperet's phone records.

It was hard to stay focussed given the hell of a day she'd had. It was hard to focus when she kept thinking about how great Sam had been.

She kept repeating in her head what he said to her.

Whoever it is, serial or not, they treated those kids like animals. They'll get what's coming to them.

Andy wondered what it was that made people kill; how they can lower another human being into the status of a plaything.

How this person could take them away from family, from friends and let them bleed out like stuck pigs. The images in her mind were as perverse and graphic as the murders probably were. It was sad to think you could imagine the worst and it could be the truth.

Real life was as bad as imagination.

Maybe it was Lionel's imagination that caused all this damage, and he was running free.

Andy thought back to her run-in with Lionel that morning and couldn't shake the gnawing in the back of her mind that told her something was wrong. Nothing ever added up fully but she still felt like she was missing the big picture, but only by an inch. It felt like she was close, but still so far away.

For some reason she thought of the book she was reading about Violet and her search for the Red Herring. It was natural to draw parallels between fiction and reality, but Andy couldn't help but think her mind took her there for a reason.

She had a light bulb moment and remembered shoving the book in her bag when she'd tried to hide the case file from Traci the night before. As she strode to the locker room and began pawing around in her backpack, she thought if Violet just found the fucking fish already, everything would be peachy.

If Andy just found the fucking murderer, everything would be peachy in reality, too.

Andy flipped to the back of the book, straddling the bench that sat between the lockers and speed read her way through the last two chapters.

Andy turned the last page and found no more writing. She closed the back cover then opened it again as if it would magically appear; the ending she'd expected.

Nothing happened and Andy was left more confused than ever.

Violet got stuck in another storm and was thrown overboard. Her boat sunk and she was stranded in the middle of the ocean with no hope.

A few days passed and she began to hallucinate. A familiar little fish swam up to her and she cried with joy.

It was her fish; her red herring.

She was rescued again by fisherman the next day. The epilogue began after that chapter and it detailed Violet's recovery. The fishermen that saved her nursed her back to health.

When she told them what she was doing out there, they looked confused.

'_The red herring,' she told them adamantly. 'I saw it. Out on the water.'_

But the red herring wasn't real. It had never been real. Violet would have never found the fish because it didn't even exist.

Violet managed to find her way back to the island where she met Damien, and upon arriving, found out that he had died from a virus while she was gone.

Andy threw the book—for what seemed to be the fifth time—against the lockers across the room.

So, the red herring didn't exist, and now the love of her life is _dead?_

Andy hated tragedy, and resented what Traci had said last night. That tragedy is what makes a love story.

Violet had been looking for meaning in the wrong place. It was with the people she met along the way. It was never about the fish in the first place; but she didn't realise that until it was too late. The red herring was a distraction.

"Arghhhh!" Andy growled into the empty room, throwing her hands up.

What the _fuck._

Trying to glean meaning from novels to apply exactly to reality was kind of futile, she deduced. Whatever she tried to gain from finishing the book was lost.

Instead, she went back out to finish up her work. She had the case file open in front of her, phone numbers listed so she could cross-match with the phone records. The crime scene photos were pushed to the side. When she sat down, something caught her eye.

"McNally!" Oliver called out, striding in from the locker room for shift change. "Why don't you go home." He put his hands on her shoulders.

"I gotta finish this," she said resentfully and Oliver chuckled.

"Come on. Luke is gonna be a pain in the ass whether you finish it or not."

Andy looked over to the picture again. She'd looked at it a thousand times, but the gnawing feeling was back and she was beginning to wonder if she was trying to join dots where there were none to join, to draw conclusions where there were none to be drawn.

Of course, she wondered if she was going crazy.

"Fine," she sighed and closed the file, standing up.

Oliver gave her a pat on the back. She was about to go straight to the locker rooms to change when she saw Luke in his office, sitting still and staring off into space.

She bit her lip.

Did he really deserve her company? Not really. But was she going to give it to him anyway? Probably.

She knocked on the glass door gently and Luke looked up, nodded once, allowing her in.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he responded softly.

He looked so tired.

They stared at each other.

Andy sighed.

"Listen, I think I've got something. But you're not gonna like it."

Luke just looked at her without speaking. He was leaning forward in his chair with his forearms leaning on his thighs, hands clasped together.

She took his silence as a green light for her to share.

She opened the file in her hands; her personal investigation notes. Andy took a few steps forward and placed it open on his desk.

"I've looked at Katie Couperet because I think she was the first murder in a series of murders that have spanned the last twelve years. I think the killer knew her; maybe one of her peers, or one of the kids she tutored. I think The Rouge Brothers are innocent."

Luke gave her a look.

"In this instance." she corrected. "I think the serial killer killed Eric and Tara, too. I think it was just a coincidence that this could be linked back to the brothers. I want you to look at my file because I think I'm right, and I think I'm close to something."

Luke's legs began bouncing up and down. His knuckles went white as he squeezed his hands tighter together.

"Are you listening to yourself?" he asked quietly.

Andy watched him, and the surge of anger and incredulousness that rippled through him like a tidal wave.

He stood up so quickly he knocked his chair back. Flinching, Andy took a step back reflexively.

""You're too busy fucking around with Sam Swarek to be focussed enough on this case." He bellowed.

The sudden volume of his words shook through Andy, surprised her so much her own words came out too quietly to have any impact.

"I'm not—"

"Don't give me that shit. I see how he looks at you. And besides, don't think that you're gonna impress anyone with this whole initiative." He waved his hand dismissively at the file she put on his desk and then at her.

"You're badge was tarnished the day you stepped through those doors. Just stop pretending. You're not a whole lot different from Tommy, you know." His words were getting acidic, edged with malice.

He was intent on hurting her.

"He kissed ass to get to the top as well, without knowing how pathetic he really was."

Andy stood there in total disgust, unable to recognise the man she used to love. She shook her head at him, shaking with fury as she stalked over to snatch up her file and turned to leave.

"Don't think sleeping with a T.O is gonna get you anywhere in this division." He quipped.

She turned around and slapped him. Hard.

"_I'm_ not the pathetic one, here." She hissed into his face, turning back around and practically running to the locker room, tears burning her eyes.

_Son of a bitch! Fucking asshole! Misogynistic PRICK!_

She could feel her face heating up with rage as she changed into her sweat pants. There was a line, and there was a LINE. Luke had just crossed the one he could never uncross.

Andy checked her watch. She still had time to run home and change into nicer clothes before she met Sam at The Penny.

* * *

Andy flagged down a cab outside the station and paid a tiny bit extra for the driver to take her on some shortcuts.

She jumped out.

"I might be a while, so do some laps of the block. Keep the meter running." She said to the cabbie through the open door.

He nodded and pulled away from the curb.

Andy jogged up to her apartment, thinking over the case again. If she could just have an A-HA! Moment, then she could rub it in Luke's face.

Andy had a quick shower and threw on a really expensive pair of designer jeans and a nice blouse. Traci made her splash out for the outfit when they had gone shopping one time. She hadn't worn them yet, and hated clothes that sat stagnant in her wardrobe and never got used.

Spritzing on some perfume, she walked back into her bedroom to find some shoes. She wasn't in the mood for ankle-breaking stillettos so she pulled on her black boots.

As she got ready, she could practically hear her stomach growling the word 'food' she was so hungry.

She opened up her fridge and scanned the potentials. She glanced over the tray of pork ribs; they'd take too long to cook.

Besides, Traci had brought them over and ever since Andy watched Babe with Leo, she couldn't imagine ever wanting to eat pig again.

Something clicked inside her head then. Something vital had just fallen into place.

Pigs.

As Sam has so eloquently and accurately put it; the victims were bled like stuck pigs.

"How do you slaughter a pig?" she whispered to herself, staring into the fridge.

She let the door fall shut and turned around to scramble for her cell phone.

She began typing out a message to Sam.

Hey, there's something about the case I need to talk to you about. I brought it up with Luke and let's just say he went off his tree before I could really tell him. I need your help. I think I might have found a link between how the victims were killed and Katie's s—

There was a knock at the door and Andy jumped.

"Ugh. Sam. I said I was going to meet you." She pulled the door open, the chain still attached.

The stranger stood there, all in black, a mask over his face.

Before she could react, the door slammed into her face, the chain breaking with the force of his push.

She screamed.


	12. Wrong Philosophy

A/N I do not own Rookie Blue!

That was a pretty nasty cliffhanger, wasn't it? Mwahahaha. I aim to displease. You'll get a taste of Sam's perspective in this chapter. Enjoy and review!

* * *

She screamed.

The noise cut off once she felt the floor beneath her. Her hand slammed against the polished wood; her cell phone scattering out of her grasp.

Despite the stinging on her face and the very real possibility of a broken nose, Andy pulled her legs up to her chest as he stalked toward her.

He leaned forward and she kicked out with both feet. He dodged and she only managed to clip him. She screamed; she was vulnerable on her back, winded.

If she was loud enough, maybe she could rouse her neighbours.

But he got on top of her then, straddling her hips.

She grabbed at his hands, to stop him from hurting her. Andy twisted her body beneath his weight, rolling onto her side as he continued to overpower her.

She pulled her hands away from him to try and claw her way across the floor. She grabbed onto the leg of the nightstand. It rocked and fell, the lamp falling to the floor and smashing. His hand sunk into her hair, pulling roughly. She swung out with her left arm, raking her nails across his exposed neck. He made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, grabbing the hand that struck him, letting go of her hair and thrusting his fist into her face.

Andy shrieked in pain, distracted, as her attacker found purchase around her neck, squeezing with both hands.

She clawed desperately, feebly, until her limbs went weak, her vision blurred and darkened.

She lost.

* * *

**Sam POV**

Luke was being a jackass. _Seriously._

Sam just hoped he hadn't stuck his neck out for the guy and then find out he's not playing his part. Sam managed to get Luke and Andy to work together, despite his keen interest to keep them apart.

Luke cheated on Andy; but he didn't think letting them fight would do any good for either of them.

Sam didn't really care what happened to Callaghan. He only cared that his rookie could cope with her scumbag ex whilst still building a case.

Over the past two weeks, they'd managed to work together in relative harmony…for the most part.

It was on occasion that Sam felt like clocking Luke in the jaw when he was acting out. It made him feel like an elementary school teacher, trying to keep the bully from picking on another student.

Sometimes Luke just couldn't seem to help himself. He got angry at Andy all the time and Sam knew it was because of him. Despite the cushy feeling it gave his ego, he didn't want Andy suffering because Luke was jealous. He had no right to be jealous. Firstly, because they were in the middle of a case and Luke's feelings were not high on the list of priorities. Secondly, Sam remembered the look on McNally's face when he told her he knew about Luke and Jo's relationship during the Ray Nixon case; anybody responsible for that look on her face has no right to have an opinion about her life then, or now.

A long time ago, Sam had relinquished any kind of pursuit of McNally and tried to stay out of her personal life because he thought Luke deserved her, because she was in love with Luke, and because Sam thought Luke had been in love with her too.

Sure, he and McNally probably never would have worked out. He cared for her but that was in the past.

It was just hard to see her get trodden on by the Douche King when she'd never done anything wrong.

Sam broke from his reverie, trying to regain some composure, sweeping thoughts of his rookie out of his mind as he changed into his casual clothes in the locker room.

He pulled his gym bag over his shoulder and strode out, scanning the barn for Andy. He had tried to break that habit, but scoping out the room for her was second nature when they were partnered together so often.

At least that's what he told himself.

He spotted her at a desk, her head hung over the work before her. A shit load of paper work. She was still working on Couperet's phone records.

Whenever Sam thought about Andy approaching Couperet at The Black Penny that night, he felt his blood run cold.

Andy was a good cop; the best. But so was Zoe Martinelli. Two rookies; skills and knowledge above and beyond that of such new cops. Except, Zoe Martinelli was dead. Sam remembered calling it in when they found her in her apartment.

If there was one thing he could unsee from this job, he'd choose to erase that day from his memory.

It was one thing seeing a beaten and raped woman lying lifeless on the floor in her own home; it was another for it to be somebody you knew.

Sam chalked it up to his protectiveness for his rookies. It had been ingrained in him since Sarah's attack.

She looked up then and caught him stalking towards her, trying and failing to be stealthy. He'd had a habit of scaring her at her desk lately.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be going home?" she accused, narrowing her eyes at him as she toyed with her biro.

He shrugged.

"You look like you need some help, McNally. Wouldn't want to keep The _Friendly_ Giant waiting," he nodded his head towards Callaghan's office and Andy sniggered.

"Yeah, I know, which is why you should quit distracting me." She smirked.

Sam bit down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain focus. _She_ was the one who always managed to distract _him_.

He dropped his gaze to the floor and slowly approached her, perching himself on the edge of her desk.

"You sure?" he looked up at her innocently, batting his eyelashes.

Andy made a face and rolled her eyes.

"Hey, don't think batting your eyelashes at me is gonna get you anywhere in this town." She admonished, pointing her finger.

Sam chuckled.

"Alright," he sighed, serious then. "I'll be round The Penny when you finish, alright?" he brushed the back of her hand with his fingers.

She looked down at his hand as he pulled it away. He stood up and took a step back, waiting for her reply.

She met his eyes with a lazy smile.

"I'll definitely be there."

_I'll definitely be there._

* * *

She said she'd be here.

Sam sighed as he stared at the bottom of his glass of bourbon.

"Is there something gross in there?" Jerry appeared at Sam's side, tapping on the counter to get the bartender's attention.

"Hm? Oh," he shook his head. "No."

"You waiting for McNally?"

Sam opened his mouth to say something and then thought better of it. Jerry was too intuitive to lie to. He was a detective for a reason.

Jerry smirked and Sam tried not to smile back.

"Oh, I heard about Nash. Congratulations, man."

Jerry's face dropped and Sam immediately regretted opening his mouth.

"What?" he leaned in closer to Sam, surprise and confusion plastered across his face.

"Um—"

"Congratulations?!" he frowned, then his head shot around to look back at Traci.

"She's pregnant?" his voice had gone small. "But that's not possible…we haven't…"

Sam's eyes grew wide and he reached out to grab Jerry's arm to keep him from freaking out.

"Oh God…" he put his head in his hands. "She must be cheating on me."

_Fantastic_, Sam thought to himself. He'd really liked Nash. He also really wished McNally hadn't told him that Traci was pregnant.

"Jerry, calm down, okay? Maybe it's not that. Maybe…" Sam was grasping at straws. "Uh…jesus, Jerry. I'm sorry, man, I shouldn't have said anything."

Jerry looked up at him then, accusing and Sam was about to double over with exasperation.

"It's you? She's been sleeping with you?"

"What?!" Now this was getting ridiculous. "Jerry, brother—"

He burst out laughing then. Sam's heart had started hammering uncomfortably.

"You—" Jerry wiped at his eyes, chuckling. "You thought I was being serious?"

Sam glared at him.

"You son of a bitch."

Jerry just laughed more, slapped some cash on the bar and took his drinks. A lemon drop and a glass of orange juice.

"I had a bet with Traci that I could trick _someone_. She knew Andy couldn't keep a secret from you, so she put twenty down on you being the gullible one."

"Thanks for that." Sam turned to look at Traci who was covering her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with laughter, and raised his glass

"Listen, I saw McNally leave. I'm sure she'll be here soon."

Sam was still shaking his head.

"I'll get ya back, Barber. You owe me." Sam threatened as Jerry walked back to his table.

The mirth died down then, and Sam couldn't help but keep looking over at the door. Maybe she'd reconsidered, maybe she'd gone home. He couldn't help but feel insecure over her reason not for showing up.

Somebody sat down beside him with a groan. He glanced to his right.

"Epstein," he said in greeting. "What's got you beat?" he asked the morose-looking officer.

"My girlfriend dumped me."

"That's too bad. Sue was really nice." Sam tried to comfort.

Dov chuckled humourlessly and ordered a beer.

"No, that was over a while ago. I was dating another girl. Crystal."

"Oh?"

Andy had told him about Dov's predicament with Crystal Marks. But after Jerry's little game, he decided to play dumb.

"Yeah. She, uh…her family doesn't approve of me."

Sam tried not to show his grimace.

"A young, promising, handsome officer like yourself?" Sam slapped him on the shoulder and Dov nodded.

"I know right, who would have thought?" he tried to agree, but his words sounded shallow.

They both knew why Crystal's family didn't and never would approve.

"I was never good with parents, either." Sam said.

Dov looked at him, interested.

"I was always the bad boy. Mothers secretly loved me, but fathers hated me."

"It's not like I treated her bad. I can't exactly say the same for Sue. I guess I didn't deserve either of them." He took a swig from his bottle.

Sam thought for a moment.

"We're all human, Epstein."

The door swung open, letting in a cold gust of air. Sam tried not to turn his head too quickly to see who came in.

Luke.

"Sometimes we make mistakes." Sam went on.

Luke caught Sam watching him and looked away guiltily.

"If it doesn't work out, maybe it just wasn't meant to." He turned back around to face the bar.

"I hate that." Dov shook his head indignantly.

"There are plenty of other people in this bar with philosophies, Epstein," Sam motioned with his glass. "Why don't you go annoy one of them?"

"Usually I talk to Oliver." He muttered.

Sam sighed loudly.

"I don't believe that." He took another sip of his beer and Sam gulped down the rest of his bourbon.

"Believe what?" Sam winced at the burn of the liquor down his throat.

The corners of Dov's eyes crinkled as he pondered.

"You make your own future. You can't just let things happen and then call it fate, maybe sometimes you have to decide what's important."

Sam couldn't help but think of Andy as he spoke. He stayed quiet.

"You have to fight." He looked up at the T.O then, looking for agreement.

Sam just stared back, then shrugged.

"Sounds like you know what to do, then." He told Dov.

Dov grinned suddenly and nodded. He stood up and reached for his back pocket.

"I got this," Sam waved his hand at Dov's drink.

"Thanks, man." Dov nudged Sam's arm with his fist and took off.

Sam glanced up at the clock on the wall; nine-thirty.

Andy's shift ended over an hour ago.

Andy was the planning type. She saved things for later. Maybe she'd been rubbing off on Sam. He wasn't being proactive enough.

Maybe he needed to fight.

As if he couldn't control his own body, he stood up, paid the tab and left The Penny. The wind hit him as he stepped outside. The night was clear and the cold was ruthless. Sam zipped his jacket up, rubbing his bare hands together as he strode quickly to his truck.

He didn't really know what he was doing.

Not until he found himself idling on the curb outside McNally's apartment building.

The determination that had gripped him at The Penny had dissipated into an anxious uncertainty. He looked up at the redbrick building and saw the light on in McNally's living room. He dropped his eyes to the steering wheel.

What if the reason McNally didn't show tonight was because she wasn't waiting for Sam, she didn't have a plan for them. Maybe not coming was her way of making a hint.

Sam bit on his lip, decided not to stew in his car for the rest of the night like a fucking weirdo, pushed the car into gear, and peeled out onto the road. He was lost in thought the whole way home, the way he sometimes did when he drove, and then suddenly found himself at home without knowing how he got there.

Sam pulled a beer out of the fridge and flopped down on the sofa, switching the t.v. on. As usual there was nothing but crap. Soap reruns and infomercials littered the waves this time of night.

Surfing through the channels he settled on the last half of a movie, slumping further and propping his feet up on the coffee table. The room was bathed in the blue hue of the t.v. screen and before long Sam sunk into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Sam didn't realise how much he was dreading going into work the next morning and forcing himself to act nonchalant when McNally showed up. He was pretty good at pretending nothing was wrong; he managed it for almost two years when Andy and Luke were together.

He would sit back, smile, and shake his head with indifference if anything came up. Would she have an excuse? Her dad showed up? Gail needed girl time?

Then why didn't she call?

_Oh my god_, Sam thought. _I sound like an adolescent boy._

He got out of bed then, having managed to drag himself off the sofa in the middle of the night. He'd woken up in a cold sweat; just escaping the end of a nightmare. He couldn't remember much about it, but he was stuck with the churning uneasiness in his stomach. With a shaking palm to his abdomen, Sam tried to dull the flutters of anxiety.

It was a long time since he'd been so disturbed by a dream, especially one he couldn't even remember. After waking up and forgetting the images, the stress and fear usually dissipated as quickly as it came. This time was different and he couldn't figure out why.

He had McNally on the brain, so he could only assume she had been a feature. The woman plagued his mind even in sleep; the thought of her was ongoing, and unrelenting. If he was being honest with himself, these feelings had begun the moment she took him down on her first day as a cop. She'd practically single-handedly destroyed the case he was building against Anton Hill because she'd been alone, afraid, and overeager. He never told her, but he'd never been angry at her for it. Something about her had bewitched him from that moment she pressed his face to the dirt and cuffed him outside that crack house. Talk about unconventional first meetings.

Turning on the coffee pot he began poking around in the fridge for food that wasn't there. He wasn't too good with keeping the house stocked. He had nobody to look after but himself, really. Getting a dog might be a good idea at this point.

Pouring himself a cup, Sam looked around his apartment and suddenly felt that itching concern grow. He frowned to himself, watching the dust motes floating in the streams of light that filtered through his living room windows. There was a gap in the curtains letting the sun in.

He licked his lips, staring off into the distance as he went over last night. Had he said something wrong?

This rookie was gonna drive him crazy. He'd never bothered to question things this much. Sam hadn't always been one to lie back, but he wasn't one to keep second-guessing himself. He tipped his mug up, finishing his drink and shuffling to the bathroom for a quick shower. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and groaned.

He even _looked_ jilted.

* * *

It was eight-thirty when he walked into the station, keeping his head low, keeping his eyes focused on the floor. It seemed to work because nobody noticed him before he made his way into the locker room. He stripped off down to his underwear, pulling on his freshly dry-cleaned uniform. It was starchy and stiff, the collar sticking up straight around his neck as he buttoned up his shirt. He folded it down before lifting his booted foot up to the bench, tying his laces tightly.

"Hey, brother," Oliver came in, fiddling with the combination on his locker.

"Hey," he frowned, dropping his foot to the floor. "You shouldn't still be here."

"Yeah, I stuffed in some OT. Gotta save for Izzy's college tuition."

"Take it easy, alright?" Sam admonished, tying up his other boot.

"You got it." Oliver raised his hand in agreement.

* * *

The suspense was killing him.

He half expected her to jump out from behind a desk but Sam walked uninterrupted to parade.

He was growing suspicious when he didn't see her in the barn first thing; she always managed to get to work fairly early.

Even more strange, he couldn't find her in the parade room, either.

Sam sat at the back, his usual spot with McNally, and continued scanning the room. Frank got up to the podium and started rambling about speed traps. We had to get numbers up for the end of the month.

Sam caught sight of Peckstein talking at the front.

Dov looked happy. He must have worked things out with Crystal.

Jerry tried to sneak in then; he was late. He slid subtly over to Sam.

"Hey, have you seen McNally this morning?" Sam whispered, keeping his eyes ahead.

"Uh, no," Jerry said absently, playing with his phone.

Sam sat up straight, the coil of unease squeezing tighter and tighter inside him. He felt cold.

"And another thing!" Frank spoke up. "Detective Callaghan just told me that one of The Rouge Brothers has fallen off the radar, so Swarek, McNally, and anyone else helping with the case, keep an eye out. An APB has been set up. You'll be sweeping the city for him."

Sam's eyes darted towards Luke who stood in the door way.

He had his arms folded, blood-shot eyes focused intently on the wall behind Frank. Something about his demeanour seemed more shifty than normal. He was uneasy, too.

Sam watched him as he left the room after Frank called for everyone to disperse.

He flexed his jaw, and rubbed his hand over his tired face before hopping down, falling into step with Peckstein.

"Either of you two seen Andy this morning?" he asked.

"No, sorry," Gail answered, glancing at Dov who shook his head immediately.

They grabbed their keys off the wall and disappeared.

Sam found his name next to Andy's—so she was definitely supposed to be at work right now—and the keys to squad car fifteen-nineteen.

He fondled his cell phone in his pocket, debating whether or not to call. She hadn't called in sick…

That was it, then. He saw Luke pacing in his office and decided to just leave. Luke wasn't his keeper. He'd be back to help with the case soon, anyway.

The drive to Andy's apartment might have taken longer if Sam hadn't violated several traffic laws. He stopped outside where he'd parked last night and pulled out his phone. Speed dial three.

It started ringing.

No answer.

He got out and redialled.

He waited for it to go to voicemail.

"Listen, Andy, I don't know if you've fallen over in the shower or something and you're incapacitated, or if you took a sleeping pill and slept through your alarm, but I'm coming up."

Andy's building didn't have an intercom system, so he walked through the front door and took the stairs two at a time.

Andy's apartment was down the very end of the hall. The building was new and half-empty. Sam had considered getting a place like this.

He got to her front door and wrapped his knuckles against the white painted wood.

"McNally, open the door!" he called, hoping his voice carried into the bedroom.

"McNally, come on!" he pounded his fist harder just to be sure she could hear him.

He leaned his palm against the door and sighed. This wasn't good.

Something caught his eye and he did a double take.

Blood, only a little bit, smeared on the door knob. Sam looked back at the door, panic rising in his chest as he took a measured step back, lifted his leg and in one smooth motion, kicked with all the force he had.

The wood splintered at the latch, the door flew open and Sam rushed in. His urgency disappeared at the sight before him.

Because he knew.

The furniture was skewed. The lamp from the nightstand on the floor; the porcelain of the base shattered into powdery shards.

Spots of blood dotted the floor between the sofa and the coffee table.

"Andy," he said softly, afraid to raise his voice, afraid to touch anything.

Afraid to know she wasn't here.

If he was quiet, it wasn't real.

"McNally." He raised his voice.

But he knew.

"Dispatch, this Officer Swarek. I got a possible B and E and _10-35._ I'm at the home of Officer Andy McNally. _10-32_." He spoke into his radio, shaking.

His hand dropped to his side as he stared at the room before him.

He knew.

The sun streamed through the large windows in the opposite wall and things looked bright and normal, a stark contrast to the turmoil raking icy blades inside Sam's chest.

It was like there was a lead weight on his rib cage and he couldn't get a breath. He was caged and breathless with grief.

A spot of blood and a broken lamp. That was it.

But he knew.

Andy was gone.

He dropped to his knees.

* * *

_A/N _

_The Friendly Giant- (for those of us that aren't Canadian) is a Canadian children's show._

_B and E- Break and Enter_

_APB- All Points Bulletin (broadcast of information to law enforcement agencies about a wanted suspect or person of interest)_

Police 10 Codes

_10-35- Major crime_

_10-32 Units required_


	13. Lost Girl

A/N I do not own rookie blue! Sorry about the late update! But what about the three week long hiatus from rookie blue? We get one more episode, and then another two week hiatus! What the eff is this?!

* * *

Sam's heart wouldn't stop pounding. It pulsed in his ears, echoed through his body, vibrated in his bones. He felt cold and lost, then immediately admonished himself. How could he be thinking about himself? What must Andy be feeling right now? Is she even feeling anything at all?

Sam quickly banished those thoughts from his head, but couldn't completely rid his mind of the morbid imagery it conjured up about his rookie.

More units arrived at Andy's apartment. Jerry was the detective on the scene. Sam leaned against the island counter in the kitchen and watched as the forensic techs scoured carefully over the living room, placing numbered evidence cards over each speck of blood and dirt. He could feel his hands shaking, balling them into fists and trying to breathe evenly.

This couldn't be happening.

The very thing he was most afraid of.

Of course it was happening.

People were speaking to him, but all he heard was the rush of blood moving through his brain, and the last words he'd heard from McNally. He kept trying to focus on the sound of her voice, to try and imprint it in his mind.

Oliver approached him then, one hand resting on his belt, and one outstretched toward him. He clapped it over Sam's shoulder but didn't say anything. That was what Oliver usually did; he reassured. Sam didn't know if his silence was good or bad. Maybe it was because he believed there was no use in reassuring when you knew the victim's chances were slim. Maybe because he knew Sam wouldn't listen to him easily, not if it was about McNally.

He couldn't be reassured right now, anyway, because McNally was out there with God knows what creep, going through who knows what kind of terror. Sam groaned internally and rubbed his hands over his face. He was wigging himself out with every thought about their lost officer and what she could be going through.

He couldn't stand still, his body was shaking, and he felt time ticking by too quickly when he wasn't doing anything. Oliver kept a steady hand on his shoulder until Sam stood up straight and started pacing. The techs hated it when the uniforms hovered over their work but Sam thought they needed to be pushed. Anybody had a problem they could take it up with him later.

Right now all he could see was that blood on the floor, and all the scenarios he could imagine about what happened here.

"Blood's dry," he heard one of them say. "It's not a large amount but I'd say the attack occurred sometime last night, probably over twelve hours ago."

"Okay," Jerry was nodding, writing it all down in his notepad.

"She was supposed to meet me at The Penny last night." Sam spoke up and Jerry looked over at him.

Sam rubbed his hands together, then clenched and unclenched his fists anxiously.

"She never showed."

Jerry opened his mouth but didn't say anything for a moment.

"This is my fault." He murmured suddenly, the thought just occurring to him.

"I should have known something was wrong." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sucking in a breath.

"It's not your fault, Sammy." Jerry pointed his fountain pen at Sam, a look of strong certainty in his eyes. "Let's just finish up here and regroup at the Barn, okay?" he called to the rest of the apartment.

"This has gotta be linked to the case we were working," Sam told them. "You got a squad on Couperet, yet?" he asked Jerry pointedly.

The detective nodded. Of course he did. That would have been one of the first points of call. Andy had been doing 24/7 work on the double homicide case and even though she didn't agree with it; the prime suspects were the rouge brothers.

Sam looked up at the ceiling, as if the answers were scratched in the paint. He rubbed the back of his head and looked at Oliver who looked back in sympathy. Sam cringed away from it. He didn't need sympathy right now. Sympathy was reserved for the families who didn't get their loved ones back. He'd given that look a thousand times and only now just realised how awful it was.

He stalked into the bedroom and found more people in there, searching through Andy's belongings. He felt like he was being rude, being in her bedroom without her there, searching through her things like she was already dead.

He walked over into the bathroom, saw nothing but his reflection in the mirror, then walked back out. He saw Oliver with a folder in his hands, examining the contents.

"What's that?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder.

"McNally must have been doing her homework on the double homicide. She's got her own list of suspects."

Sam grabbed the folder off him.

"Lionel." Sam murmured. "Lionel Peters. Hey, Jerry, get an APB out on a Lionel Peters." Sam ordered.

At Jerry's obvious confusion, Sam sighed.

"Andy didn't think the brothers had anything to do with Luke's case. She looked into Katie Couperet's murder, and thought the double homicide two weeks ago was linked to it. We went and talked to this guy who knew Katie." He held up the sheet of paper titled 'Freshman Mentoring Program', pointing to Lionel's name.

"Anybody recovered her cell phone yet?" Jerry asked the room.

Nobody said anything. Sam shoved his hand into his pocket to find his phone. He pulled it out and called Andy's cell. He couldn't believe he hadn't done it earlier. Her ringtone reverberated through the room and everybody went silent and paused for a moment, trying to isolate where the sound was coming from. It buzzed through the floorboards. Sam dropped to his hands and knees, lowering his head to the floor to peer under the sofa.

"Got it!" he hissed, reaching under and grasping it with the tips of his fingers.

"There won't be any prints on it but McNally's." he said to Oliver who'd just offered him a pair of gloves.

Oliver looked at Jerry who nodded back.

"If this is your guy, we won't find prints." Jerry agreed.

"If her cell was under the couch it means she must have dropped it in the struggle and he didn't notice or didn't care." Sam said to the room, pressing a button to wake it up.

A half-typed message was still open on the screen. It was addressed to him.

_Hey, there's something about the case I need to talk to you about. I brought it up with Luke and let's just say he went off his tree before I could really tell him. I need your help. I think I might have found a link between how the victims were killed and Katie's s—_

His tongue rolled off the edge of that unfinished sentence and his stomach plummeted with it. That was it, and Sam was stumped as to what she meant. He had to re-read it to make it sink in.

This could really be the breakthrough in the case that they needed. This could be the reason she was attacked. She'd finally gotten too close and Lionel must have realised it. Andy was brilliant at her job, too brilliant. Sam was almost too focussed on how the sentence was supposed to end, until he read through the message for the third time. His eyes passed over Luke's name; the letters pierced through his head like hot needles. He couldn't move a muscle.

Oliver had been reading over his shoulder and became just as silent as Sam had. Jerry was curious and impatient, taking Oliver's place as Sam stood there, unable to move, or think. A haze of red settled over his vision, a pure, unthinkable rage coiled within him.

"I gotta go." Sam said rigidly, making his way for the door.

Jerry grabbed his arm.

"Sam, we need the phone—"

But he pulled his arm back roughly and stormed out, clutching the phone in his grasp protectively. He could almost feel the redness in his face, the heat of his blood colouring every inch of his skin. He was on fire.

And the only place it could be directed…

"Detective Callaghan." Sam paused at the door to the detective's office.

Luke was facing the opposite wall, an open file in his hands. He turned at the mention of his name, and the tone of Sam's voice.

Luke looked at him and Sam strode in. He pulled out Andy's cell phone and held it up to the detective's face, an inch away from the tip of his nose.

Callaghan took a step back instinctively, raising his hand in a slight display of defence. His eyes focused on the words written out, then went wide and shiny as he looked back at Sam.

Sam clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. Dropping the hand holding the cell phone to his side and depositing it safely back into his pocket, Sam's stare never wavered. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he tried to maintain composure.

"She came to you for help." He said quietly, gruffly. "Something she knew…" his voice became louder. "…has landed her in this situation."

Luke watched intently, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as Sam closed his eyes and breathed out hard.

"What did she say to you last night?" he opened his eyes to watch the detective answer.

Luke blinked, swallowed, and shook his head.

Sam took a step toward him.

"What did she tell you?" he asked again, his words shaky and enraged.

"Nothing." Luke responded finally. "I didn't let her finish."

Sam smiled sardonically, and nodded, already expecting that answer.

He looked down at the floor for a moment, barely containing the fury that had bubbled up inside him until he thrust his fist into the detective's eye. The sound was dull, but distinctive. Luke doubled over and lost his balance, dropping to the floor as Sam shook the pain out of his hand.

"Argh!" Luke growled. "Jesus Christ, Swarek."

"She came to _you_ for _help!_" Sam bellowed, looming over the vulnerable man on the floor. "You better hope she's okay, or so help me God."

Blood trickled out of his nose, his hand covering his injured eye. Sam must have caught the bridge of Luke's nose with his strike. A dull ache throbbed through the joints in his hand, but he relished the pain. He couldn't look at him anymore. He glanced up and around; the entire station had stopped to witness their short exchange, and Sam's outburst. Frank stood outside his office, his hands in his pockets, his thoughts so clearly illustrated on his face.

Peck and Collins came rushing in to diffuse the tension. Nick put his hands on Sam's shoulders, either a comfort or a restraint, Sam wasn't sure. Gail kneeled at Luke's side, and lifted his chin up with her finger tips and glanced back at Sam in confusion.

"Come on, man, we'll take a walk," Nick suggested, trying to pull him away.

Sam followed the request, leading Collins back out into the barn before he could pummel the detective any more.

* * *

Collins led Sam to the break room. Sam walked in, linking his fingers at the nape of his neck, bending slightly at the waist.

"You gotta pull it together, man." Nick pulled a chair out for him.

Sam sat down, propping his elbows up on the table and letting his head fall into his hands.

"I don't know if I can."

It was the most honest and vulnerable he'd been in a while. He wondered why he let the wall down around Nick.

"You have to do it for Andy." Nick's voice was strong and low.

Sam didn't want to look up; he didn't want to make eye contact, he was worried he'd lose it completely.

But he knew Collins was right.

Thinking about getting to Andy was what kept him functioning right now. Thinking about _not_ getting to Andy was what was making him crumble.

He felt Nick's hand on his shoulder.

"I gotta get back to the scene. They might need me." Sam sucked in a breath, rubbing his fingertips over his eyes.

Collins was silent.

"We're gonna get her back."

Sam snorted softly and didn't respond. Being negative wouldn't help the situation, being negative would make him feel worse, but he also didn't want to be naively positive, because that just wasn't realistic in this job.

"She's a fighter."

Sam stood up, growing restless with sitting still for too long. His bones ached. Collins leaned back in his chair to look up at him, a small sympathetic smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

Sam sighed finally, and settled on an obtusely negative remark.

"So was Zoe Martinelli."

* * *

"You should really put some ice on that," Gail eyed Sam's grazed knuckles from his run-in with Luke. "You don't want permanent damage."

"It's fine." Sam said dismissively. "Jerry give you any updates?"

They were on their way back to Andy's apartment. Sam wanted to look around. He didn't exactly know what he'd find there, if he'd even find anything. There wouldn't be some magical answer hidden in her sock drawer. But he couldn't be anywhere else.

Gail had offered to give Sam a ride.

She pursed her lips, and he knew she didn't want to give him any details from the scene after he'd left. Jerry must have told her not to divulge.

"Peck," Sam warned.

She rolled her eyes.

"They found hairs in the dried blood." She sighed. "But they're pretty certain that they're…Officer McNally's."

The air was thick. Sam swallowed.

"They found some more blood smears."

Sam looked up at her then, afraid to let hope overcome him.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and it won't all be And—Officer McNally's."

Something caught Sam's attention.

"Why won't you call her by her first name?"

Gail stared at the road ahead. Sam watched her shrug out of the corner of his eye. There was something that surfaced in Peck that Sam had never seen before.

"It's easier not to think of her as a friend." She answered.

Sam dropped his eyes to his knees. Peck was more torn up about this than she let on. Sam hadn't really seen Gail display much concern for anyone besides Diaz, and maybe Collins.

"It clouds your judgement." She looked at him pointedly then, and Sam understood her meaning.

Maybe the rest of fifteen hadn't noticed yet, but Peck certainly had, as well as Collins. Sam was barely keeping it together, and it was because he couldn't separate himself from the situation. This was happening to Andy, which meant it was happening to him and it made him feel like he was drowning.

Fear and anxiety were debilitating; they were like cracks in the pavement. You could be running along at full pelt with nothing in your way and then your toe gets caught in the crack and you've planted into the ground. It leaves you stumped. It keeps you from moving.

Right now, though, Sam felt like he was running in slow motion, everything was paced and lethargic. He felt like things should be going a million miles an hour. But there was protocol to follow, investigation and searching to do, and it drove him mad.

Sam rested his hand on his thigh, feeling the hard lump of Andy's cell phone in his pocket. It wouldn't leave his possession until he found her. It didn't really hold much evidence, and wouldn't necessarily aid in actually finding Andy's, but it was probably the last thing she touched. Sam couldn't let it go.

He traced the outlines of it through the fabric of his pants until Gail pulled the cruiser into Andy's street. It was still filled with squad cars, and forensic vans. People dressed in white overalls with cameras slung around their necks stood around on the sidewalk talking to Jerry. Gail parked the squad car up on the kerb. Sam got out and looked around.

Gail made her way up the street, stopping to talk to Oliver. Sam continued past them towards Jerry.

"Any news?" he repeated the question he posed to Gail.

"Nothing I'm sure you didn't squeeze out of Peck on your ride back here." He gave Gail a nod. "I need her cell phone, Sammy."

Sam clenched his teeth together.

"You won't find anything important." He ground out.

Jerry held his hand out and Sam sighed in resignation, his hand diving into his pocket to retrieve the device.

"Andy had a fight with Callaghan last night about the case." Sam provided.

Jerry was mouthing the words as he read through the text message, nodding.

"I'll talk to him when I get back to the barn." He pulled out an evidence bag from his jacket and dropped the phone inside.

"But he's not much help, either. He said he didn't let her finish talking, so he doesn't know if she was onto something or not."

"I still gotta talk to him, Sam."

Sam felt like grinding his teeth together at the thought of Callaghan. If they didn't find Andy, he would personally see to it that Luke never worked homicide again, never worked for the force again, never saw the light of day _ever _again. But those threats were benign compared to what he would do to whoever took Andy in the first place. Sam and everybody around him knew he was capable of rage; but there was something different this time. Every fibre of his being was sparking with fury over what had happened. It wasn't just anybody this creep took. It wasn't just anybody they were desperately searching for. It wasn't just anybody's blood splattered over that apartment.

It was _Andy McNally._

And for some reason that fact seemed to dissolve any level of restraint and forgiveness Sam ever had. He would kill the person who did this and relish it.

Sam's radio crackled.

"_Dispatch, this is 15- 23, we've got a visual on APB Lionel Peters."_

Sam looked up at Jerry with wide eyes and turned on his heel, running back down the street to Gail and Oliver.

"I need the keys!" Sam called out.

Gail glanced at Oliver, as if asking for permission. He nodded once and she unhooked the keys from her belt, chucking them to Sam as he sprinted past.

He grabbed his radio as he opened the driver's side.

"_15-23, this is 15-19, what's your 20?"_ Sam demanded breathlessly, turning the key in the ignition.

"_Uh, we're at 905, Glencairn Avenue, Glen Park. Subject is just entering the house. Permission to detain?" _It sounded like Diaz.

Jerry must have sent a unit to sit outside Lionel's house.

"15-23, 10-26. Do not let the subject go." Sam threw it into gear and pulled out, lights and sirens going.

"_15-19, 10-4."_

* * *

Jerry had banned Sam out of the interrogation room. Everybody had started to catch on that this was too personal for Sam. They thought he couldn't maintain objectivity. He knew he hadn't helped the situation by punching Luke, but that didn't mean it didn't feel good.

So, he had to watch from the side lines as Jerry and Traci grilled Lionel Peters. Something shifts in the minds of officers when the victim is one of them. They get sneakier, meaner, and merciless.

Sometimes it makes it worse. But as Sam watched the pair intently, working in sync to purge information from Lionel, he knew they were on their game. Lionel wasn't giving anything up, though. He was maintaining innocence and it made Sam want to push him up against the wall with his hand around his throat.

Lionel had his head cradled in his hands.

"The officer who spoke to you about Katie Couperet has gone missing and you didn't think we'd look at you?" Nash pressed.

They dropped a large glossy photo of McNally on the table and it made Sam flinch, his stomach churn. It surprised him.

Jerry was playing the intimidator, pacing around the room, behind Traci, then behind Lionel. He loomed over their suspect, beating down his confidence and security just with his presence.

Lionel shuddered, his face still covered.

"I want a lawyer." He said again and Nash leaned back in her chair, looked up at Jerry who pursed his lips, then at the mirror like she knew Sam was going to be standing there watching.

Jerry stood behind Lionel and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Do you know what happens to cop killers in the system, Lionel?"

Sam sucked in a breath at the implication; that Andy was already dead. But he knew Jerry only used it for effect.

Lionel lifted his head, his red and teary eyes narrowed at Detective Barber but he said nothing.

Jerry rested his hand on the table, invading Lionel's space, trying to spook him.

"Cop killers can go missing, Lionel." He said lowly.

Sam knew that Jerry's words were pushing the boundaries of interrogation. He knew that Traci knew, but she stayed silent. Andy was important to her, too. Sam wondered how Traci seemed so together. It was probably because she had Jerry. Sam had people, but the problem was that Jerry was to Traci as Andy was to Sam. The worst part was that he never told her.

"The thing is, the system doesn't take too kindly to creeps like you."

Lionel continued to stare at Jerry, his bottom lip quivering.

"She got too close, didn't she?"

"What?" Lionel finally said.

"She started sniffing around you, she liked you for Katie Couperet's murder, but you've eluded us for years, you can't go down without a fight."

Lionel blinked and shook his head in confusion.

"And to be brought down by a _rookie?!_" Jerry squinted, shaking his head in mock incredulousness.

"You gotta do something about it, right Lionel? Plus, she's pretty, right? Beautiful brunette, tall, slim, brown eyes, she's exactly your type, right? Like Katie?"

"No!" Lionel yelled. "I never touched Katie, I never touched that cop. I was scared of being blamed for this and I was right. And now a cop goes missing? Can my luck get _any worse?_" He dropped his head to the table, his body shaking with sobs.

Sam rubbed at the stubble over his chin and sighed.

"Why don't you talk to her fucking _brother?_" Lionel sniffed, wiping his fist under his nose. "He's the crook."

Somebody opened the door the room then.

"Lionel, I'd advise you not to say anything else, now." He was dressed in neatly pressed black suit with a blue tie.

"If you haven't charged my client with anything, I think we're done here." He walked over to Lionel who looked up at him with relief.

Sam shoved the door open, stepping out into the hall just as Lionel was escorted out by his lawyer.

He felt himself moving forward, ready to run and tackle the piece of shit to the floor. Jerry appeared before him, putting his palm on his chest to stop him.

"We're just gonna let him go?" Sam shouted.

"We can't hold him." Jerry shrugged. "I know it's shitty, but you can't go after him and beat the shit out of him. That's not helping McNally." He dropped his hand from Sam's chest.

Sam stared at his friend, then back at Lionel's retreating form.

"So, we're back to where we started." Sam felt like punching the wall.

He stepped past Jerry who tried to stop him again.

"Where are you going?" he held his arms up for emphasis.

Sam had been stewing over something else all day, but it had to be done. He'd been kidding himself up until now that he wouldn't have to do it, or that somebody else would.

"I gotta do something." He answered vaguely, shuffling down the hall.

Jerry shook his head and went back into the interrogation room. Sam waited until he was alone. He dialled the number, and held his phone up to his ear, the dial tone as foreboding as a ticking bomb.

"Hello?"

"Tommy." Sam's voice broke. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what, Swarek? What's going on?"

"It's Andy."

He could hear Tommy gasp on the other end of the line, his next words coming out in a rush.

"What happened? Is she okay?"

Sam leaned up against the wall of the hallway, letting his head fall back.

"You better come down here." He took a deep breath. "Something happened."

* * *

"Here," Sam offered the older man a cup of coffee. "It's bitter and watery but it has the effect."

Tommy lifted his head from his hands and took it.

"Thanks, son." His eyes were red and watery and Sam found it hard to look at him.

He had aged about ten years since coming into the station ten minutes ago. His eyes drooped, his mouth a thin line that turned down at the corners. He ran a hand over his thinning hair then dropped it back to his lap.

"I can't believe this is happening." Tommy shook his head. "I never should have let her do this job."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. Maybe Tommy was right, but he hated the fact that he didn't wish the same. If Andy never became a cop, Sam never would have met her. Was it so selfish that he didn't regret that even if it meant she wouldn't be in trouble right now? The thoughts made him feel impossibly guiltier.

"We're doing everything we can, believe me." It was all Sam could say that wouldn't give the man false hope.

Even so, he looked at Sam with something akin to annoyance.

"Are you, really?"

"I'm trying." Sam promised, taking a seat across the table from Tommy.

He hadn't taken him to the room where they took the families of victims. With the sofas, the old magazines and the agonising wait. He couldn't do that to Tommy.

So, Sam had led him into the break room. It was hard trying not to treat Tommy as just another relative of a victim. He was Andy's relative, and because he was still a cop at heart. Tommy knew how investigations worked, how slim the chances of finding Andy were after the first twenty four hours. It had been eighteen.

Sam couldn't just tell him to be patient; Tommy will want to be kept in the loop.

Tommy watched him for a moment without speaking, examining him like a suspect.

"I watched your back when you came to fifteen." Tommy said gruffly. "You were supposed to watch my girl's back."

Sam couldn't reply because he already knew Tommy was right.

"They just let that son of a bitch leave?" he shook his head in disgust.

"They've got two units following him around all day. If he makes a move, we'll know about it." They were the words Jerry had spoken to him earlier.

They had done nothing to placate him, but he used them anyway, because what else was there to say? Nothing but 'we found her' was going to cut it.

"I'm sorry." Sam murmured.

"I know you want her back, too." Tommy replied.

Sam's head shot up at that comment; he could hear the double meaning in Tommy's voice. He cleared his throat and stood up, dropping his untouched coffee in the trash.

"Find her, Sam." He said without looking back, disappearing around the corner.

His words were not a plea, they were a demand. He wasn't begging Sam to find his daughter, he was _telling_ him.

Sam sat there for a moment longer before getting up. He couldn't believe how things had changed so drastically from this morning. This morning he was worried that McNally had stood him up at The Black Penny, and now he was dreading every phone call he got because it might be the one telling him they'd found her but they'd been too late. He couldn't even prepare himself for that phone call.

Sam caught up with Jerry in his office.

"Hey, I'm glad you're here." He nodded at Sam, his phone pressed up to his ear. "Okay, thanks. Bye." He spoke into the receiver, hanging up.

"Where've you been?" Jerry asked.

"Talking to Tommy."

Jerry grimaced.

"Preliminaries on that blood came back; it's a different blood type from McNally's."

"She got a piece of Lionel?" Sam asked, letting himself smile in triumph for a moment.

"Looks like it. Hopefully Traci can get a court order for Lionel to do a blood test."

"What about the other people on that list?" Sam pressed.

Jerry was writing something down before he spoke again.

"Did Andy tell you anything about the other names?"

"Lionel is the only one I knew about." Sam told him.

"What about the text message she was going to send you?" Jerry continued. "Do you know what she meant, what she was trying to say?"

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I don't know. She was keeping this one close to her chest." He shook his head. "_I _taught her that."

"That's why she's a good cop." Jerry smiled then grew more serious. "That's why she'll _continue_ to be a good cop. This isn't over yet."

Sam nodded once, feeling a burning in his eyes.

Jerry's phone rings, breaking the tension.

"Barber." He says in lieu of a greeting.

He leans forward in his chair suddenly then stands up.

"I'll be ready."

"What's going on?" Sam asks anxiously.

Jerry puts his phone in his pocket.

"They've got Couperet and they're bringing him in."

* * *

"Where _am _I?" Andy whispered to herself, her head lolling forward.

She struggled fruitlessly against the restraints, her wrists rubbed raw. There was a little light, enough to know she wasn't dead, but not enough to see anything clearly. The room smelled like rust, mould, and death. The smell finally registered and it made her dry retch. It was rotting flesh and stale blood.

"Oh, God." Her voice was hoarse and it hurt her throat to speak.

She felt tears stream down her face, stinging her left cheek as she tried to breathe through her mouth.

Her head pounded, a sharp pain focused between her eyes. She remembered the door slamming into her face; a stream of memories flittered behind her eyelids.

Sam's smile. Luke yelling. The masked man.

She remembered lying down with someone on top of her. Her body shook and her heart thudded painfully. She looked down at herself. The collar of her blouse was damp and darkened with blood. She'd never felt more alone.

She sucked in a breath, and hissed in pain. Broken rib, probably.

She closed her eyes again, wading through more thick murky memories. Her brain strained to recall what happened; had she been drugged? Her throat was sore; strangulation? She tried to remain calm, but she was in pain, fear racked her.

Fear of her predator, fear of more pain, fear of dying.

She let the fear and agony force sobs out.

"I don't wanna die." She murmured to the empty room.

She was answered with nothing but silence.

* * *

_A/N_

_Police Ten Codes_

_10-4 acknowledged _

_10-26 Detain subject- Quickly_


	14. Gone, Baby, Gone

A/N I do not own Rookie Blue, although I'd be much happier if I did. So sick of waiting for new episodes. It makes my heart hurt. ENJOY! Reviews have been wonderful so I'd like to thank you all. Also, I've just made a twitter IMTOTESAWRITER Drop me a line! :D

* * *

Phillip Couperet used to have a chip on his shoulder. For years, he was the leader of a ring of men responsible for ninety per cent of the meth, speed and cocaine that came into the city. He was rich beyond imagination having reaped the benefits of the business for a long time and untouchable to law enforcement. What was strange about Phillip wasn't his occupation, especially not in this day and age. It was the fact that even though he could afford to buy the moon, he still lived in his family home in Scarborough.

He dressed nicely, but was never outlandish. He was the first modest drug dealer Sam had ever met. He looked like a car salesman with fists big enough to bend concrete pylons. Usually, he was quiet; the strong and silent type. He would sit in court or interrogations with his bottom lip pouted, looking bored and superior.

The man sitting in that room today looked nothing like the old Phillip Couperet.

"I…don't know what to say." He stared down at the picture of McNally on the table between him and Jerry.

"What happened to her?"

Jerry glanced at the mirror. Sam watched with a frown.

It was rare to have Couperet on his own, which is maybe what made him act differently by not being around his business partners. Sam still considered his behaviour surprisingly normal.

"Officer McNally was abducted from her home about nineteen hours ago. Where were you last night at around nine?"

Couperet took the picture in his hands.

"I was at a bar. _Hook, Line and Sinker_. You can call them."

"Oh, we'll be doing that." Jerry smiled.

Sam watched the man with confusion. He was pretty good at reading people, but he had to be mistaken on this account.

Couperet looked sad.

When Jerry had mentioned Andy's name, Sam registered genuine shock on Couperet's face. He wouldn't be as foolish as to immediately believe that Phillip was innocent; Phillip was a brilliant liar.

It was just strange that he hadn't even asked for a lawyer, although it was common knowledge The Rouge Brothers were arrogant. They thought they were invincible, and they hadn't been proven wrong yet. Phillip's demeanor was different, though.

"How old was Katie when she was killed?" Jerry asked.

Couperet's eyes flashed dangerously and Sam recognised the old tough bastard inside trying to escape.

"Too young." He answered, his eyes dropping back down to Andy's picture.

"And so is your officer." He placed the photo between them and pushed it back toward Jerry. "I'm not your guy."

Sam felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. His heart thumped unevenly as he retrieved it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Traci."

"What's up?"

"I just got the court order for Lionel's DNA sample. I need you to go pick him up. I'm on my way back to the station."

"You got it."

Jerry paused, watching the bigger man with a ponderous stare. He sucked in a breath and retrieved a sheet of paper from his folder, sliding it across the table for Phillip to read.

He looked down at it with indifference before rolling his eyes and reading it.

"Know any of those people listed?"

Couperet frowned and squinted at the sheet or paper before his face went blank, swept clean of any emotion.

"No." the word was clear and resolute.

"Can I go now?"

Jerry was silent and Couperet took it as acquiescence. Sam watched as the hulking, two hundred pound drug lord left the room quietly.

* * *

Jerry finally let Sam back into the interrogation room when they brought Lionel in. He sat on the opposite side of the table as the forensic specialist swabbed the inside of his mouth with a Q-tip.

She deposited it into an evidence bag as Lionel looked up at Sam who stood stoically in the corner.

Lionel wiped the corner of his mouth and stood up, his lawyer following him as he went.

Jerry shared a look with Sam.

"Come on," he nodded his head toward the door. "I'll get you a coffee."

They walked into the hallway together. Luke was walking toward them, Steri strips over his nose and a bruise blossoming over his left eye. Sam glanced at his damaged hand again; it didn't feel like he'd inflicted that much damage. Somehow, it didn't feel like enough, though. After everything he did wrong.

Sam tried to restrain himself, but he didn't need to. Luke avoided them by doubling back and disappearing into his office. Only Jerry's hand on his arm stopped him from chasing the asshole down the hall.

It felt like this was all he was doing; watching interrogations or getting held back from beating the shit out of somebody. He didn't feel like he was actively looking for Andy. He didn't feel like he was doing anything to help.

"I'm going crazy, here, Jerry." Sam's eyebrows pulled together, trying to swallow the lump of pain in his throat.

He bent at the waist, stretching his arms out to reach his knees. He shuffled, hunched, over to the bench seat against the wall. Jerry followed suit, taking a seat next to him.

"Everything's—"

"_Don't fucking say it_" Sam spluttered, holding back the shattering anger and grief that threatened to spill over as tears.

He looked Jerry dead in the eye as if he'd just betrayed him.

"_Don't_ say it. I'm sick of hearing it, because that's all we have. We _hope_ she's okay. But you don't really know. What if she's _gone?!_"

"Look at me," Jerry demanded, clenching the sleeve of Sam's shirt. "It is not your job to decide when it's over." He spoke through clenched teeth.

"You are not allowed to fall apart right now. You can't let Andy pick up the slack. She's out there right now, fighting to come home and what would she think if you gave up on her?" he spoke quickly, quietly, and acidly.

"This isn't about you. It's about McNally. And if you're gonna give up on her then you're not the cop I thought you were. You're not the Sam Swarek I know." Jerry released his grip on Sam, shoving him slightly.

His words penetrated into Sam's skull, quaked his confidence even more, but solidified his resolve. Jerry stood up then, leaving the broken officer to think. Sam stood, too.

"Wait," his voice was weak before he cleared his throat and swallowed his self-pity. "Give me something to do."

Jerry looked back at him, probably evaluating whether or not it was a good idea. He seemed to deduce it was, because a sense of resignation shone through his eyes. His wore his signature expression of pursed lips, before pulling a slip of paper out of the file he held, handing it over to Sam.

"Go and look at the people on this list. Maybe one of them saw Andy yesterday."

Sam glanced at the names of the four people, including Lionel, on the list of the Freshman Mentoring Program.

Jerry walked back the way he came.

Sam clenched the piece of paper in his hands and trudged off to the pit, commandeering a free computer and looking up the addresses of the names listed.

Sam called the school and got them to send their student files. They were very co-operative now that one of their employees was a potential suspect. Sam downloaded the files onto the system and printed them out. Each file had each student's I.D. photograph attached. He looked at each photo, imprinting them to memory although they were all over ten years old.

He stuffed each file into the bigger file that was Andy's investigation. Jerry had stripped it bare, leaving nothing behind but the indecipherable little post-it notes that Andy had written. She had terrible hand writing.

Jessica Reid. Female, currently resided in Miami, Florida. She was off the table. It was unlikely she would have travelled all the way up to Toronto to kidnap a rookie officer even if she had been sniffing around. Besides, Jessica Reid would have been hard pressed to overpower Andy, especially if it was a hand-to-hand struggle.

Carl DeLuca lived downtown and had no criminal record.

Lionel was pretty much taken care of.

Lastly, there was Andrew Summers.

Sam sifted through the post-it notes stuck to the back of the folder. He'd seen one with what looked like the name 'Andrew' scrawled messily over it.

_Andrew Summers-deceased 2006_

"Oh," well that saved some time.

Sam wrote down Carl's address on his notepad. He caught sight of Peck and Collins talking by the locker rooms. It looked like the end of their shift.

He whistled at them. Their eyes shot towards him.

"You guys wanna come for a ride?"

"Where are we going?" Gail asked, rubbing her hands together eagerly as they walked over to Sam.

"Carl DeLuca," Sam handed her his I.D. photo. "That picture is about twelve years old, but we're gonna pay him a visit. He was on McNally's list of suspects for Katie Couperet's murder."

Gail turned the picture over in her hands, nodding.

"Let's go." Collins agreed.

The three of them walked briskly together down the hall towards the parking lot.

Epstein noticed the atmosphere of purpose surrounding them as they left the station.

"Can I help?" he poked his head out of the break room.

"Stay here and keep looking." Sam called over his shoulder as they disappeared around the corner.

Sam realised as they all piled into the cruiser—Peck riding shotgun—that nobody had gone home yet. Every single rookie was here still. Collins read through Andy's case files, and the student files on the way to Carl's apartment. He spouted questions on the way. Gail sat there, passive, but looking worried.

Sam looked up at the sky through the windscreen, wondering if Andy could see it, too, wherever she was.

He was beginning to feel numb to everything; the cold, the darkness. It was like he was living outside of his body, and maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this way he could work more efficiently. He could stop himself from getting too worked up. He could be methodical and pick up things everyone else had overlooked because _they_ were too emotional about it.

But, night began settling over the city, the warmth of the sun dropping below the horizon and the moisture in the air creating an icy sheen over everything it touched.

The window of time was getting smaller and smaller; Sam could literally feel Andy's breaths becoming shallow, her pulse slowing into silence. The silence was deafening. The past few hours were an infinite spiral of dead-ends and self-loathe. It's like he was a million miles underground with no strength to dig himself out, no voice to call for help. He wasn't even the one in trouble. He kept seeing Andy's profile out of the corner of his eye, hearing her voice.

His UC operation paled in comparison to how much he missed Andy right now. She wasn't just gone, she was taken and hurt, and Sam was dying not knowing where she was.

He worried his lip with his teeth as they sped toward the streets of downtown.

The trees lining the road towards Carl's house were skeletal and bare, stripped of colour through the bitter winter.

"It should be this one right up here." Gail pointed. "Ninety-eight."

Sam pulled up to the kerb and killed the engine. All three got out and bounded up the stoop. Sam pressed on the button next to Carl's name. There was no answer. Suspicion immediately followed.

Sam held his finger down on the button impatiently.

"Come on, you son of a bitch." He growled to himself.

"It says here, he works at a grill a couple of blocks away," Gail piped up.

"What are you talking about?" Sam beat his fist against the front door, then ran his finger over every button on the list.

"On this post-it." She held it up to show them both, then read it. "Carl DeLuca," she paused, squinting closely at the note under the dull light of the street lamp. "_Quinn's._"

"Oh," Nick's eyes widened. "I know that place. I've been there a few times with my brother."

Gail gave him a look.

"What?" he said. "They do a good grilled tuna."

Gail rolled her eyes.

Sam bolted down the steps and onto the sidewalk, throwing himself back into the squad car.

"Come on," he crowed impatiently as Collins got in, closing his door.

They roared down the street; Collin's shouted out directions.

* * *

_Quinn's Bar and Grill _shone like a beacon in the middle of a dull street. It was the only food spot on the strip and it got a roaring trade.

The place was filled to the brim with hungry patrons. Sam could feel his stomach groan in protest as they stepped inside.

Attention settled on them pretty quickly, the inane restaurant chatter ceased immediately, like pulling the needle off a vinyl record.

Sam looked around the bar, the other two officers flanking him.

"Can I help you, officers?" Sam spotted Carl wiping his hands on a dish rag by the door to the kitchen.

"Yeah, could you step outside with us, please?" Sam held his arm out to the front doors.

Carl watched him with confusion, then a nod. He leant down behind the bar and Sam's hand flinched toward his gun. He produced a jacket and Sam relaxed only slightly, waiting for Carl to go first, following Peck and Collins out into the snow.

"What is this about?" he frowned, curling his arms around his middle to shield himself from the cold.

"Where were you last night between the hours of eight and ten p.m?" Sam ground out.

Carl's eyes glazed over for a moment.

"I don't know. I think I was finishing up here, and then I went home."

"Got anybody who can corroborate that?" Collins asked.

Carl nodded. "Sure." He jerked his thumb behind him. "My barman, James. And the CCTV."

"James, who?" Collin's asked.

"Magill." Carl answered, watching Collin's pen move across his notepad.

Sam pulled a picture from his pocket, diverting his attention back.

"Have you seen this woman?"

Carl leaned in closer, his brow furrowed deep.

"Uh, yeah, sure. She came in the other day asking about a tutor I had in college." He shrugged when none of them said anything. "What? Was she not a cop or something? Am I in trouble?"

"Officer McNally has gone missing." Collins provided when Sam didn't answer.

His teeth were clenched together, the muscles in his jaw straining.

"Yeah, and you're probably one of the last people she spoke to about the case she was working," Gail added, her voice smooth but condescending.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Carl shook his head. "I don't know what happened to her. I haven't seen her since she came to talk to me on Sunday. James will tell you, he was there, too."

Sam looked sceptically over at the bar tender; a mop of jet black hair and about half an inch of facial hair covered half of his face.

"Don't worry, we'll be speaking with him, too."

Carl shrugged again.

"I'm really sorry I can't help you. She was really nice."

Sam's eye twitched at that last part, he felt as though Carl was trying to taunt him.

"We'll be in touch." Gail said and Carl disappeared back inside.

They watched as he deposited his jacket back under the bar. The bartender, James, leant over towards Carl. They exchanged words then glanced back at the officers staring at them from behind the glass.

"I'll get Magill's statement. You guys wait in the car." Sam ordered, stepping back into the warmth of the restaurant.

He made his way up to the bar, nodding his head at James who nodded back in acknowledgement.

"What'll it be?" he wiped the table in front of him before leaning his hands on it.

"Carl's alibi." Sam clicked his pen and smiled at James.

He sighed.

* * *

A piece of paper dropped onto the desk in front of Sam.

"What's this?" he looked up at Jerry's retreating form.

"That's your warrant for the CCTV from _Quinn's._"

"Seriously? That didn't even take you an hour." Sam jumped to his feet.

"I'm a miracle worker. Thank me later." He called over his shoulder.

"You can ride shotgun if you want." Sam caught Dov with his head buried in Couperet's phone records inside the break room.

His head shot up to attention like a German Shepherd's.

"Yes." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I was getting nowhere with that crap."

* * *

Sam and Dov sat in the cramped little office behind the kitchen of _Quinn's_. It smelled like overcooked meat and stale food. There were files stacked up on shelves above them, a tiny brown desk in the corner with a computer atop it. They were still bustling with trade, so nobody would be disturbing them.

Carl had rolled his eyes when they'd shown him the warrant and almost got a foot through his face before Sam reconsidered.

He chewed on his thumb nail as they ran through the black and white footage over the last few hours. Dov rewound the footage back to eight p.m last night. It was still busy, the place was full of staff. Sam scoped the screen for a sign of Carl.

"Right there." He pointed to the kitchen.

The screen was separated into areas of footage; the kitchen, the back room where they were sitting, the bar, the delivery dock, and the dining floor.

He could recognised Carl's height and posture, his slicked back hair, hunched over the stove, flipping something in a frying pan.

They sped it up a little, keeping watch. A lot of the people left at eight-forty-five when it died down. Carl was cleaning the kitchen, and didn't stop until ten-thirty-two.

"Jesus Christ." Sam muttered bitterly. "So, he's clean."

They copied the footage files onto a USB and took it with them. They left.

Once they got back into the cruiser, Sam pounded his fists against the steering wheel as Dov watched awkwardly.

"We're one step closer." Dov said when he'd calmed down.

Sam let his head fall back against the head rest, closing his eyes. The night was ageing and Sam couldn't stop seeing her face.

"This is fucking hopeless."

* * *

Andy was rocking her chair from side to side. She broke the balance and plummeted to her side, gritting her teeth before she hit the floor and muffling a shriek of pain when she did.

Her eyes had adjusted and she could see more clearly. The floor was concrete and fucking freezing to the touch. Each wall had a steel shelfs pushed against it. There was a light bulb in the middle of the ceiling above her, and something that looked like a motor mounted on the corner of the wall she faced. She could see the exhaust fan.

The shelves lining the walls were like wire racks, rusty and disused for a while. She deduced she was in some sort of giant freezer, like a commercial one. She had managed to scoot her chair closer to one of the shelves before tipping herself over to reach the rusty end. The wire had come away from the frame and bent down to the floor. She had turned her back to it before rocking the chair so she could use her restrained hands to grasp the wire. It was as thick as a drinking straw and rough to touch. She could feel it disintegrating in her hands from the rust. Her left arm was aching under her weight and the back of the chair crushing it, but she pressed on, jerking the broken wire towards her. The shelf squeaked with every tug, wobbling behind her. She gave it one final pull and it snapped off.

Last time she'd broken out of cuffs was the night before her first day at fifteen, when they hazed all the new rookies at The Black Penny. Long before the nightmare started.

She was weak and in agony. She tried moving some more, but couldn't get up the momentum. Her hand was getting numb with the back of the chair cutting off the circulation to her arm. She fiddled blindly with the wire and the lock, trying to get the right angle.

She almost sobbed with happiness when she heard the little click of the release, the metal springing back. She pulled her right hand out, bringing it around to her front, rolling her aching wrist. She reached out and grabbed the leg of the shelf, pulling herself up from her side and back into a sitting position. She pulled her left hand away then, bringing it to her lap and letting the feeling return. Her wrists stung when she touched them, a ring of chaffed, raw skin circled them like bracelets.

_Just breathe._

* * *

Everything around him moved like a blur, every sound a faded static.

Sam could feel the exhaustion creeping up with him as he made it back to the station with Dov. He stole away into the locker room for a moment and sat down where it was dark and quiet. He stared at his hands and wondered if he could ever do this job without Andy.

If they didn't find her…

He stood up to pace, then stopped to bury his fist in a locker. The metal yielded and crumpled under his fist and it was almost satisfying.

He got up then, and made his way out. He walked past the parade room and stopped. Collins, Peck, Epstein, Nash, and Diaz had set up half a dozen white boards with the case, tacking everything out of Andy's case file onto the boards, and anything we'd found so far.

They were sat on the desks, staring up at the boards. Sam walked in to join them, staring in awe at their creation. Their set out was meticulous.

"'scuse me," a voice said from behind him.

Luke walked in then, avoiding Sam's eyes.

"I've got results back on DNA and particulates." He held up a thin folder.

Sam stormed forward to snatch it from his grasp, circling the podium before turning to face everybody, including Luke.

He opened it up and read.

"No DNA found on Eric or Tara." Sam announced disappointingly. "Metallic dust, bleach, and…traces of commercial grade chemicals were found on both bodies."

Sam frowned.

"And bone shavings?"

He looked back at Luke.

"None of them had any injuries that would result in bone shavings…" it wasn't exactly a question.

"Let me see that," Epstein reached for the results and scanned through it.

"It says it's from animals; a combination of swine, and bovine DNA."

Everybody looked at Epstein.

"Pig and cow DNA." He elaborated.

"What the hell does that all mean?" Gail asked the question on everybody's lips.

"Some kind of farm?" Diaz suggested. "A butcher?"

"A slaughter house!" Gail shouted, standing up suddenly.

"Oh my god, Andy and I went to scope out a slaughter house last week when we found the bodies on Key Street. It was supposed to be linked to The Rouge Brothers." She explained in a rush.

Sam glanced at Luke, then back at Gail.

"You sure you didn't just get some on you then transfer it to the bodies when you found them?"

Gail shook her head vehemently.

"We didn't touch them, neither of us did."

"We only found Eric that day, anyway. The techs found Tara the day after."

"Alright, let's go check it out." He announced.

Luke stood there for a moment, unsure until Sam nodded. They shared an unspoken agreement.

_I will never stop hating you for what you've done, but right now we need to find her._

Luke followed everybody out as they broke into groups of two, jumping into empty squad cars. Gail pulled out first because she knew exactly where to go. Sam followed closely behind, Luke in the passenger seat.

It was bizarre, had never happened before, and most definitely would never happen again. But they were civilised and silent as they sped towards a glimmer of hope.

They slowed down and coasted to a stop about a hundred yards away from the slaughter house.

Sam pulled his radio towards his mouth.

"_Peck, Epstein, come with us. Nash, Diaz and Collins stay out here and keep watch. And somebody keep Jerry posted."_

"_10-4" _

"_Got it."_

Sam looked sidelong at the man that made his blood boil.

"Let's go."

"_Peckstein, we're moving in."_ Luke said into his hand held radio.

They opened their doors and got out, shivering against the unforgiving wind.

Both men ducked low along the chain link fence that surrounded the warehouse, stopping when they found a gaping hole in the wire. Peck and Epstein caught up to them then, ducking through the hole one at a time.

It was overgrown on the other side, like the marsh on Key Street where the bodies were found. This didn't look good for The Rouge Brothers, or Phillip. The grass danced, waving to them in the breeze without making a sound. The ground was hard and cold.

Sam was up front but paused and turned, making a huddle with the others.

"Make no sound, keep on your radios. You see anybody? Call for help."

Everybody nodded.

He made a motion with his hand, pointing towards the double doors on the front of the building. Sam touched Luke's elbow and jerked his head towards a rusted door on the side. A dozen rotting wooden pallets were leaning up against the wall, obscuring the door. Luke followed behind Sam, their guns already out and ready. They chased their shadows toward the deserted structure. The moonlight coloured them pale, bathing the space in an eerie glow.

Sam pulled the junk out of the way, placing it instead of dropping it on the ground. He tried the door knob. It was rusty and stubborn, but unlocked. He pulled it open, wincing as the metal screeched at the movement.

Luke aimed his gun at the door as Sam pulled it open, just enough to squeeze through the gap. Sam held his gun out then, his arms rigid, his hands firm on the black metal. He held his breath as they disappeared into the dark.

Their shadows stood in the light pouring through the open door. Sam pulled out his flashlight with his left hand, resting his gun hand on top of his left wrist, and running it across the room.

Luke's light followed, searching.

They must be in some kind of office. Sam toed stacks of paper out of the way with his boot, eyeing the door in the right corner.

* * *

Andy heard something in the distance. It echoed; the sound of grinding metal, like a door opening.

After expending so much energy on freeing herself from her cuffs, she'd passed out. She'd been searching around the room on her hands and knees for a way out. She knew where the door was, the thin line of light outlining it made it pretty obvious. But there was no door knob; the door must be locked from the other side. She'd thrown herself against it about a hundred times with no luck.

Andy had been trying to disassemble one of the shelves, pulling the corner leg off to use it as a crowbar so she can pry the door away. She paused in his ministrations at the sound of footsteps.

Her breathing came faster, her heart fluttered.

* * *

Sam led the way through the door and down a corridor to their left. Two doors sat on their right side; bathrooms.

They checked both, then continued.

There was another door before the corridor opened up into a bigger space. They heard a noise and paused. Sam looked back at Luke with his flashlight.

They glanced at the door ahead and shuffled toward it, pulling on it gently, then with more force when it wouldn't yield.

* * *

Andy held her breath, covering her mouth. Tears sprung from her eyes as she heard him outside, trying to get back in.

She grabbed the chair and stood back against the wall beside the door to catch him by surprise. She shuddered, gripping the back rest with bloodied hands.

_This is the end._

* * *

Luke nodded at Sam, holding out his hand for his flash light. Luke held them both on the door as Sam pulled his leg up and kicked hard. Sam grabbed his flashlight off Luke and went in. He spun around the room, putting light in every corner.

It was empty.

* * *

The door opened.

He was back. The sight of him caught her off guard and her scream got stuck in her throat. She pressed her lips together as he stepped in. She lunged forward, bringing the chair down over his head. He yelled in shock and Andy took the opportunity to run. He'd dropped to his knees from her attack. She shoved her hands into his back; he dropped face-first into the floor and she ran out through the door. The only light had been streaming through a crack in the roof just outside of her pseudo-prison. But it was pitch black now. She couldn't see. It was like running through ink, she could barely see her hand in front of her when she went further into the shadows. She leaned her back against a wall, getting her bearings and trying to decide on a direction to run in.

She heard footsteps and breathing and started shuffling quietly down the corridor, keeping close to the wall.

Something clicked; a light shone in her face. A hand shot out, catching her by the throat. She screamed.

* * *

Sam's head shot up at the sound. He didn't wait. He knew. He ran.

Her screaming got louder, closer, and he got more desperate.

"Andy!" He screamed.

His feet pounded the concrete.

He could hear Luke coming up behind. There was no use trying to keep quiet now; at least not for Sam.

He came to the open space at the end of the hall, shining his light over the room.

"Andy!"

There were muffled movements and something thudded to the ground. His ears pricked up like a dog's. He ran towards the sound, down the hall at the opposite end of the space filled with steel tables and hooks handing from the roof. He held his gun ahead of him, keeping his light steady.

There was something on the floor up ahead and then everything slowed down.

He heard footsteps thundering up behind him as he got closer.

Sam had never been very close to anyone; nobody had ever awakened this feeling inside him. The thought of someone trying to hurt her made him insane. It was ridiculous and primal, but so ingrained there was no way he could control the murderous rage that ignited in his belly when he saw Andy lying there on the ground, beaten, bloody, and unmoving.

The panic sat on his chest like a lead weight, nausea rising up in his throat. He saw her and that's all there was; Andy and her agony. Sam's eyes burned as his feet carried him frantically toward her. She has to be alive because Sam couldn't see a future without her.

He dropped to his knees before her.

The warehouse echoed with the percussion of his heartbeat. It pumped hard and fast yet he couldn't seem to breathe. Her skin was cool and pallid; she looked like she'd been sleeping for years.

Her lips were blue, and she was covered in blood, her skin covered in grime and dust.

He reached out and tried to find her pulse. Luke stood at his side. Gail and Dov caught up. Gail knelt down at Andy's feet.

Sam heard Luke call it in.

"Go." Sam ordered, looked up at Luke. "He was just here. Keep looking."

Dov took off with the detective in the dark, their footprints written in the dust.

"Andy," he breathed.

Her blood pulsed sluggishly. She was holding on. He leaned forward, putting his ear close to her nose. She was still breathing.

Her neck was freshly bruised, a brand new gash on her forehead welled with blood. Sam shrugged off his jacket, laying it over her to keep her warm.

"Should we move her?" Gail asked.

Sam shook his head.

"She might have a head injury." He answered. "Go get a medi-kit out of the trunk."

Gail stood up.

"Watch yourself. He might still be here." He warned before her footsteps went quiet.

He kept his flash light pointed at the wall above where she lay, so the wall reflected a softer light onto her body.

"Andy," he whispered, leaning his face down. "Andy."

He touched his forehead to hers.

"Andy."


	15. What Doesn't Kill You

A/N I do not own rookie blue! Looking forward to what you think of this chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

Everything seemed abstract and too bright. At first everything had been quiet…nothing but a soft murmur in the background, saying her name over and over. It warmed her to the point where she forgot about the cold. She forgot the fear, if only for a few moments. She felt like she was in some warm, dark pocket of safety. Maybe it was death. The nothingness felt like a relief. She didn't feel afraid as the emptiness stretched on.

Then she felt like she was falling, the way you fall out of a dream.

She didn't know which way was up, where she would land, or if she would just keep falling.

Her body jolted violently and she felt herself shocked into consciousness.

Her eyelids peeled open to bright artificial lights.

The cold came back, biting at her face. She was lying down and the she could see the sky.

"Sam?" his face appeared at her side.

Her voice was muffled and she recognised a pinching around her face. She brought her hand up to pull the oxygen mask away.

Sam's hand came down on top of hers, gently.

"It's okay." He assured her breathlessly.

She felt her body jittering, the earth moving.

"What's happening?" her voice was sluggish, but clear.

Talking made her throat ache.

"They're taking you to hospital. You're gonna be fine, Andy. You're okay. Try not to talk."

She looked up and tried to focus on his face. His hands gripped the gurney.

Her hands curled around the blanket that covered her body.

The night sky and the wind disappeared; replaced with the shelter and warmth of an ambulance rig.

People outside were talking loudly; shouting demands and orders over the sound of a helicopter above.

The gurney shuddered as they pushed her in. An EMT got in beside her. She tried lifting her head to find Sam as he was pulling himself up into the rig.

It was lighter and quieter now and Andy could finally see him properly.

It felt like she hadn't seen him in years; like she'd been lost for an eternity. Her heart flooded with relief and it brimmed over in tears.

Her hands shook and steadied as he took one in both of his.

He gripped it firmly between his palms. Andy curled her fingers securely. He watched her and she watched him back. The pain was a faint reminder of what happened. She'd been numbed with meds; but her body knew the truth of the trauma.

Her mind wouldn't let go.

Something in Sam's eyes told her, he wouldn't either.

His stare was intense and bottomless. She felt his gaze burn through her, weakening and strengthening her at the same time. He dropped his eyes then; and she was almost glad he did. She was so filled with emotion and confusion; his stare grounded her, but also riddled her with questions.

"You're okay," he murmured, bowing his head over their joined hands.

"You're okay."

Andy swallowed and winced at the movement.

She couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure her, or himself.

She felt nausea rise up in her stomach, dizziness swirling around in her head.

She pulled her hand out of Sam's grasp and turned to her left. The EMT was already prepared, holding a basin up to her mouth as she emptied her stomach.

It wasn't a lot, which kind of made it worse. It burned her already sore throat. She was relatively past the humiliation stage of vomiting in front of Sam Swarek. She was just glad to be alive.

The woman held some cloth up to her mouth, wiping it.

"Concussion?" she heard Sam ask from behind her.

"Yep." The EMT answered.

Andy groaned in discomfort. Her breath caught in her throat as she rolled back, a sharp pain shooting through her abdomen.

Sam rested his hand on her forehead.

Andy just breathed.

* * *

Andy watched Sam pace outside her room, yammering into his phone. She watched nurses in colourful scrubs shuffle past, looking back at him confusedly before disappearing into rooms. Right now she was under observation; she had three cracked ribs on her left side, a broken nose, and a concussion. Last night had been a roller coaster.

She was dehydrated so they hooked her up to an IV. They stuck Sterri strips over the cut on her forehead. Her nose had set in the right position, so there was no need for surgery. It just hurt like a son of a bitch.

The doctors said she was lucky the attacker didn't fracture the hyoid bone, or crush the larynx while he strangled her. Otherwise, she would have been dead.

Instead, she was left with some rather deep looking bruises, and a difficult time trying to swallow food or water.

Sam must have stayed with her all night. He was still here, out in the hall, having what looked like a tense conversation with somebody. He scratched tiredly at his five o'clock shadow, staring off into the distance as his mouth moved around his words.

She remembered what happened. Finally. Not that she really wanted those memories, but whatever doesn't kill you…

Last night, as she'd been tended to in the emergency room, Sam had given her the run down on the case.

She'd been sceptical at first, then almost sure then completely clueless again as he'd described their chase of Lionel Peters and Carl DeLuca.

Andy continued to watch him, slowly realising how good it felt to see him, how she could have so easily never seen him again.

She wondered what it had been like while she was missing. Sam hadn't been too detailed in that department. Although, she had to reason it couldn't have been as bad as what she went through when Jamie Brennan abducted and tortured Sam. There weren't really words.

So she was glad when he finally interrupted her thoughts as he came back into her room, letting the door fall closed behind him. He smiled; it was exhausted, but warm.

"Hey," he murmured.

She smirked at his crinkled, un-tucked shirt with the buttons popped open at the top.

"You look like you've had a rough couple of days." She croaked as he bent to sit in the chair by her bed.

A breathy laugh escaped his lips and he cupped his face in his hands, looking up at her.

"You could say that." He looked at his feet.

"What was all that about?" she jutted her chin at the door, indicating his phone call.

Sam looked at where she directed, then back down.

"Lionel Peters' DNA didn't match. So we still don't know who did this to you, McNally." His head sunk further down, his hands gliding up his face and over his head.

His fingers linked at the nape of his neck.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "This should never have happened."

"Hey," she stretched her hand out; the one that wasn't hooked up to the drip.

Her fingertips grazed the back of his right hand. He dropped them to his lap to look up.

She fixed her gaze on him, and felt more honest than she ever had.

"This isn't your fault."

His jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed as if he was deciding whether or not he believed her.

She shrugged.

"_You_ didn't beat me up and kidnap me, did you?"

Sam shook his head, but it wasn't in agreement with her words. He was incredulous.

"You've _always_ been like this. So black and white in some ways and so shades of grey in others. You could have been killed." He stared at her in anger, his eyes black like smoke.

"Sam—"she tried to speak, but he wouldn't let her.

"You overthink every little thing, but when it comes to something that matters, you don't think at all."

He stood up, turning to face the door.

He'd echoed his words from long ago. That day on their way back from Sudbury; their prison transfer had gone awry when the prisoner had faked anaphylaxis. Of course that would fool Andy.

She didn't think about his ulterior motive, she moved to action and got caught off guard. The prisoner escaped. Maybe Sam was right, and she was too caring for her own good, only wanting to see the good in people.

Andy overanalysed the trivial, and overlooked the integral.

"I _was_ thinking!" she protested, trying to be assertive without raising her voice.

She winced with every word.

"I was trying to tell you something that I thought was relevant to the case. I was being responsible and thoughtful when I tried to tell Luke about it."

His eyes flashed.

"I know." he digressed her point.

"I guess I was wrong about the whole thing. I guess it really was The Rouge Brothers. Who else would have known me?" she uttered bitterly.

"I'm sorry I fucked up, but I thought I was onto something, Sam."

He looked like he hadn't slept in years.

"I don't care about the case, McNally." He muttered darkly, and then his eyes softened. He made his way for the door, stopping only to say one more thing.

"I care about _you_."

* * *

Andy was signing some release forms at the nurse's station when Tommy returned with a wheelchair.

"Dad," Andy shook her head upon seeing it. "I don't need that."

"Uh, it's hospital policy." The young women behind the desk informed her as Andy handed the clipboard back.

Andy screwed up her face then sighed. It hurt to bend; it hurt to stretch, but she wanted to walk out of here. It was some kind of success. But Tommy wouldn't allow it. He practically rammed the wheelchair into the backs of her knees to get her to sit in it.

"Off we go," he said in an overly cheery voice.

Andy huffed, pulling her jacket over her lap and folding her arms. She was relieved to be leaving, though, even if it wasn't on her own two feet. She was so tired of hospital food, of poking and prodding, of sharing a bathroom, of being considered unwell.

Andy hated being pitied, which was really the only sentiment you got when you were lying in a hospital bed especially when your injuries are so obvious. Her face was swelled up and bruised.

They made it to the parking lot and Andy tensed in preparation. Tommy's car was sort of low; Andy had to bend at the waist slightly to get inside. She held her breath, her face getting pale and clammy as she finally positioned herself comfortably. Well, as comfortable as she could get with cracked ribs.

Tommy looked at her expectantly when he got in but she just shook her head, her body tensed and rigid as she tried not to move.

"We'll go pick up your prescription, then?" Tommy commented, turning the key in the ignition.

Andy just nodded mutely and tried to breathe evenly through the pain.

It was still miserably cold weather outside. The snow had turned into sleet and was melting into pools around them. Tommy pulled up to a twenty-four hour discount pharmacy to pick up Andy's pain killers. She waited in the car, her head resting on the window. She watched the warmth of her breath draw condensation against the glass.

Breathe in, breathe out.

She looked around for something to do. She didn't have any belongings with her besides the clothes she wore, which Tommy had picked up for her. The clothes she came to the hospital in were now evidence. Her phone was evidence, and her apartment was a crime scene. The line must have been long inside because Tommy was taking forever.

She sat up straight with a groan and flipped down the visor to check her reflection. It was like when that guy head-butted her a few weeks ago, except a lot worse. The bruise covered most of the left side of her face from her cheek to her brow. Her nose looked red and tender, the purplish hue following over the bridge to the corner of her right eye. She looked like she'd ran into a wall, or been in a boxing match, and not foxy boxing, _real_ boxing.

She jumped slightly when Tommy appeared again, dropping the paper bag filled with pill packets on her lap. She grasped it in her hand numbly.

"Take me out to lunch?" she asked suddenly, feeling thirteen years old again.

"Sure." Tommy grinned. "Anything you want, kid."

Andy smiled at that. Tommy was sure to be loving this extra father-daughter time. Maybe it was just the fact that she was home safe.

Andy couldn't wait to sink her teeth into a greasy cheeseburger. She didn't care where it came from she just needed a good feed. She needed the normalcy.

She needed to pretend that she was okay for a moment, and that she wasn't watching everyone, everywhere she went, to make sure they weren't trying to hurt her. She knew PTSD. Her father did, too. But the word was never mentioned between them, like it was dirty.

Andy believed she could get through this. The problem wasn't her; it was the person that did this to her. She had thought it was Carl DeLuca, she'd been rather certain. Now she wasn't sure of anything. The mystery behind his identity made it even worse. Who could she trust? Who would she meet on the street tomorrow that might try to kill her again? Would she even see it coming?

Once the case was closed, she could rest.

Once it was closed, she could feel safe again.

* * *

Gail was poking around in Andy's fridge for more wine. Traci was trying to prepare the food while Dov and Chris were fighting over who would win in a fight; Stephen Harper, of Barack Obama.

Andy was sitting on a bar stool at the island counter where Traci was working.

This was the first night Andy was back at home. She'd been staying at Tommy's for the past week and a half, but decided it was time to face going home.

The door opened suddenly and Andy's stomach flipped nervously. Nick poked his head in with a grin, holding up two new bottles of red. Gail gasped and went to kiss him.

"Thank you, baby."

Gail and Nick must have worked things out. Andy had been so preoccupied with the case pre-abduction; she must have missed them getting together.

"Okay," Traci ground out as she bent over to pull something out of the oven. "Everybody, grab a bowl," she announced, depositing the huge tray of nachos on the counter. "And dig in."

She rounded the counter to where Andy was and rubbed her back.

"Thank you," Andy murmured.

Traci just smiled.

They all surrounded the island counter with glasses of wine and hot salsa covered corn chips hanging from their lips. Andy felt more at ease than she did in a while. She was still consciously reminding herself to calm down, but with each passing moment, she was starting to get used to being home.

Nobody mentioned what happened. Nobody even really explained what this get together was about, or why it was, so conveniently, planned for the day she got back home. But Andy was grateful, not only for their silence, but for their presence. They joked and talked about the mundane.

Traci sipped from her wine glass full of orange juice and watched everybody else pig out on her culinary creation. Apparently cheese gave her heart burn, so she steered clear.

Andy sipped conservatively at her wine, not wanting to be hospitalised because she mixed alcohol with her pain killers.

As they sat around, eating and drinking, Dov detailed a conquest he had in college with a professor, much to everyone's disgust and dismay. Andy remembered her conversation with Sam about crushing on teachers, and couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm serious, she told me to dress up like a school boy, it was insane." He popped a chip into his mouth with a ridiculous grin.

Gail scrunched her nose up.

"She sounds like pervert." Andy commented.

"Which is perfect for Dov." Gail added.

Dov looked offended while the others just snickered.

The party cleared up after eleven. Gail and Traci lagged behind, sitting either side of Andy on the sofa.

"Listen, I gotta go, are you gonna be alright?" Traci asked, sitting up.

Andy nodded vehemently.

"Go, I'm fine. Go." She patted Traci on the ass as she got up. "Go forth."

They smiled and chuckled until the door closed behind her. Silence fell. Gail looked at Andy.

"Can I crash here, tonight? Nick is so not equipped to have a girl in his house, and I've had a few, so, this couch is looking pretty good."

Andy looked at her with a knowing smile.

"Sure."

Gail would never admit that it was to help out a friend in need. She'd probably rather pull her own teeth out than admit she was a nice person. Andy saw it. Gail was doing her a favour, but disguised it as something else. The blonde officer rolled her eyes as Andy went to get her some bedding from the closet.

"Goodnight, loser." Gail spouted as she spread out across the sofa.

Andy bit her lip.

"Gail?"

"Ugh," she groaned. "I didn't want to do this."

Andy sat back down on the sofa. Gail watched her with raised eyebrows.

"I'm scared." She could feel her bones vibrating, preparing for that feeling of emptiness that plagued her at night.

"Scared of what?" Any normal person would have said 'that's normal', or 'it's okay', but not Gail.

Maybe that's what made her the best person to talk to.

"It's not just what happened." Her eyes welled up with tears.

She wasn't just afraid, she was angry with herself.

"It's figuring out how to deal with it. It's being here," she glanced at the floor by the coffee table and shook her head.

"I'm afraid to fall apart." Her voice shook.

Gail grabbed her hand tightly but didn't say anything.

"Because if I do, what if I can't pull myself back together? What do I have, then?"

"You can let this define you, McNally. You can fall apart. Maybe you need to. But you fight to get back up. I'll fight with you, we all will. It will be hard. You probably won't want to do it some days. But I'll be here to kick your ass and tell you to keep going." Gail pulled her into a hug. "Don't turn into a catatonic weirdo, alright. You're strong enough not to lose yourself." She murmured.

They pulled apart and Gail rubbed Andy's shoulder, then pulled away, rubbing quickly at her eyes.

"Thanks," Andy whispered.

Gail nodded, "Now, go to bed."

* * *

Sam hadn't seen Andy since he'd practically yelled at her for getting in trouble back at the hospital. He couldn't believe how harsh he'd been, but couldn't help but feel the rage. Whenever she did stuff like this, it boggled him. How could she put herself into direct danger when there were so many people around her who cared? So many people whose lives would be ruined if something were to happen to her.

Naturally, he was having a hard time watching her stroll back into the station this morning. She had a lot more make up on than usual to cover her bruised eyes. She favoured her left side slightly; her ribs must still be bothering her. She winced slightly when Frank shook her hand a little too roughly, but gritted her teeth into a winning smile.

Sam watched from the pit, wringing his hands anxiously. He didn't want to hover, and he didn't want to yell at her again, not when she was trying so hard to be normal. He'd probably do the same thing, but he didn't like to think that; it would mean he'd have to stop feeling so worried and protective of her.

He got up from his desk anyway to greet her; she was probably pretty pissed at him.

"I'm cleared for light duties, Sam, so don't even start," she growled, shouldering past him to get to the women's locker room.

"Hey," he touched her shoulder instead of grasping her arm.

He didn't want to risk hurting her.

Maybe that was his excuse for anything concerning Andy McNally.

She turned, staring up at the ceiling, then at the wall, anywhere but his face.

"I'm sorry about…back at the hospital."

Her eyes flickered back to him and her mouth softened.

She nodded once.

"So, you didn't get in trouble for going rogue on the case, then? Hiding files at your place etcetera?"

Andy shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She shrugged, her eyes glancing over his shoulder.

Sam looked back, catching Frank's gaze. Their staff sergeant nodded at them knowingly, and then went back to his phone call.

"Good." Sam nodded, turning back to face her.

"Good." Andy repeated.

They both stood there in awkward silence until Andy spoke up.

"I better get ready, then." She said, and without waiting for his reply, spun around and fled to the locker room.

"Andy," Sam called out to her back, following her. "I'm not gonna magically disappear because you go into the ladies room." He leaned against the lockers with his arms folded.

Andy was fiddling with her combination.

"Well, you should, you're not supposed to be in here." She sighed loudly before finally getting it right.

She pulled the blue metal door open, toeing off her boots and kicking them inside. Sam waited for her to stop for a moment, but she continued as if he weren't there.

She pulled the zipper down on her hoodie, pulling it off her shoulders.

She had a fitted tank top underneath, but the bottom hem had ridden up to her waist. Sam blanched at the bruises blossoming across her skin.

"Andy," he murmured, staring at her marred complexion. "Are you sure you're okay to be here?"

She caught his look and quickly pulled her top down.

"I'm fine." She muttered, pulling her work boots out and dropping them next to the bench behind her.

"Andy," Sam continued.

"Sam." Andy mimicked.

"Stop." He reached out and put his hand over hers as she reached for her uniform.

Her eyes flashed but neither of them moved. Sam's hand covered hers; the heat radiated up his arm and through his chest.

He pulled his hand away and lowered himself to his knees, keeping eye contact.

"Show me," he whispered.

Her lips pressed together and she looked down at herself before rolling up the fabric that covered the truth.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he fought hard not to make a noise as he examined the marks. Her skin, smooth and golden, was interrupted with patches of deep purple.

He tentatively reached out, his fingertips just grazing across them gently. He glanced up to catch her watching him intently.

He looked back at her bruises and felt more disgusted in himself and his ability to be an officer than he ever had before.

He rested his left hand on her hip and gently pulled her top back down. He let go of her completely, couldn't find the words to say in response to what just happened, and turned to leave.

* * *

Andy stepped toward him; it was like they were dancing. One steps away, the other pulls them back. She grasped the top of his arm and he turned back to face her fully.

There is something—

His lips crash down on hers. His arms encircle her so gently. There is nothing left but him. She can't reach up too far; she rests her hands on his chest.

He pulls back, like he's surprised; like it was beyond his control.

Andy looks at him, his deep hooded eyes. There is something sparking between them; something so strong and new and palpable. It feels ethereal, it feels so alive. All around them it was dark, between them it burned with light.

He was her beacon. He didn't let go.

It was one of those moments of pure clarity where neither knew what to say, or whether they should say anything. If they did, it could ruin it.

Andy reached just far enough to touch his neck, to pull his lips back down to hers because that's all she could do. That's all she wanted in that moment.

Things started to begin to make sense again.

Her lips parted, and his the same. It was like a relief.

His hands flattened against the small of her back, running a line up to her shoulder blades before he pulled them back, cupping either side of her jaw.

She couldn't believe this was happening. Three years of tension and pretending.

Her pain faded into the background. She wasn't abandoned, she didn't have an alcoholic father; she was happy and whole. She felt the world dissipating around her, leaving nothing but them in the silence.

He was so gentle, so aware that she was hurting. He moved with her, always careful.

She was scared this moment would disappear like ash into water.

Their tongues touched and she shuddered. His fingers ran lines of heat over her jaw, up into her hair. She moaned softly, her breaths coming faster. He gripped her hips and backed her slowly up to the lockers, his body lining up with hers. He ran his hand back down to her shoulder, her back, her waist. He paused at her hip as their mouths moved languidly. His hand smoothed around the curve of her ass, then the back of her thigh. He pulled, hitching her leg up to his hip.

Her heart pounded.

"Andy." He whispered.

Not a question. Just her name. Just because he can.

In two weeks, this was the first time she felt safe.

In his arms.


	16. Never Go Back

A/N Long awaited, I know! But I got a new job, so I've been hella busy! Anyways, hope you guys enjoy. Send me some love when you're done, or drop me a line on twitter IMTOTESAWRITER

* * *

He had her pressed up against the lockers with his own body. Her face was heated and flushed. Her hands ran down to his hips, bringing him closer.

There wasn't a place on their bodies they weren't touching. They didn't break from the kiss. Not when she felt him, hard and aroused through his pants. Not when she felt herself melting from the inside out. Not even when she'd pretty much resolved to have sex with him right then and there in the locker room.

Sam's radio crackled suddenly, piercing through their little moment.

They broke apart.

Sam looked down at her, bringing his hand up to her face.

His eyes wandered to her cheek, his brow furrowing, his eyes creasing at the corners. His thumb ghosted over the semi-concealed bruise.

At least bruises fade.

Andy watched him run his eyes over her face then back into her eyes; sinking.

She licked her lips, his eyes caught the movement, and she tried not to make a noise.

Sam seemed to collect himself internally. He guided Andy's leg back down, her foot touching the ground again. He held one hand on her hip, one against her face, then took a step back. The cold distance was a shock to their heated skin.

Andy just breathed, looking at him.

A smile crawled across his face, then all at once. He ducked his head slightly and the motion was endearing to Andy. Shy Sam? A side she'd never really seen before. Though, she supposed, this wasn't exactly an everyday happenstance.

Andy let her mouth perk up in reaction, like they'd just shared a secret.

Sam rubbed his hand against the back of his head, shaking his limbs out, and clearing his throat. Andy's eyebrow quirked at his _situation;_ Sam quirked his eyebrow back in response.

It was like they'd been hypnotised; by each other? Andy had no idea, but right now they were both acting like confused zombies.

And without any awkward words exchanged, Sam did what he did best, and left without a word. He walked briskly out of the room, his boots squeaking against the floor. She was kind of glad he left like that, she wouldn't have any clue how to start _that_ conversation. She was as confused as she'd ever been.

Confused about what to do, that is. Confused about Sam, she was not.

It took exactly that moment for her brain to sort out what she should have realised a long time ago.

She shook her head, trying to clear it of the clouds he induced.

Even her brain was stammering. Sam Swarek. The thought was ridiculous. What in the world had driven him to kiss her? Andy tried to gather herself and get ready for shift. But that was almost impossible. It was just as impossible to try and guess what Sam was thinking, what he felt, if he thought that was a mistake, if he did it out of pity, or fear.

It was one of those times, which was one of many, when Andy seriously lamented the fact that Sam was the strong silent type. If men were difficult to get express their feelings, then Sam was difficult times ten. She had, admittedly, been one of few who could actually get him to open up. But only slightly. The rest was up to Sam, and whether or not he trusted her enough to share himself.

Her thoughts were running rampant as she fixed up her hair in the mirror, patted her eye with some more cover-up, and walked nonchalantly out into the barn.

Frank was calling parade and she could already feel her skin heating up again. She felt like a freaking teenager.

Her face, flushed with the thought of the locker room, and Sam's mouth on hers, turned at the sound of her name being called.

"Andy, hey," Traci came skipping up to her.

Confusion and delight preoccupied her for a moment. Traci handed her a small rectangular card; a photograph.

"Oh my god," Andy looked back up at her friend with a wide spread grin. She looked back down at the grainy image and frowned. "I can't see anything."

Traci's finger tapped at a circular blob, and something that looked like a lizard.

"It's her spine!" Traci admonished, snatching the picture back.

Andy chuckled and shrugged.

"This is really happening."

Traci nodded, pressing her lips together and letting her eyes close for a second. They stretched their arms out, enclosing them around each other affectionately.

They only broke apart when Gail stopped to look at them and grunt 'ugh'. Her hand squeezed Traci's arm gently on the way past, a hidden compromise to Gail's normally rigid attitude. But it disappeared as quickly as it happened as she quipped sarcastically about Traci not being big enough to block doorways yet.

They rolled their eyes at her, as they always did, because it was a silent agreement not to take offence, and not to make a big deal about anything nice Gail said or did. It would make her uncomfortable.

It was scary knowing somebody so well like that, Andy thought.

She never thought after graduating from the academy that she'd ever be "besties" with Gail Peck, let alone want to talk to her at all. Back then, everybody else was the enemy. Andy was a competitor, and these people were all trying to be the best. She had no idea her feelings for them would change so drastically. She supposed it was because she had no idea how close you got to your colleagues on this job. How they became your family and you had to protect them.

Andy knew that now better than ever. Because not once had any of the other rookies mentioned what she'd been through, not one of them hovered, or tried to comfort her.

They knew that if she wanted them to, she wouldn't be here right now. She'd be at home, moping, and dwelling on what happened instead of trying to figure out why.

Andy felt hypersensitive once she stepped into the room filled with her peers; everybody except her close friends had their eyes on her. They were trying to be surreptitious, but every beady little pupil was expanded and focused on _that_ officer. The one that got abducted and almost killed. The one that would be damaged for the rest of her career.

When Frank finally called attention, their eyes flitted back to the front, the whispers ceased, and the last sympathetic, piteous nod of the head came from Officer Gaden who worked a lot of the time in booking. When Andy watched the back of their heads, the room seemed normal, like when you try to stay as still as possible when you're drunk, so you almost feel sober. But one wrong move sends you swaying and tumbling, losing your footing, and losing your mind.

Andy almost missed the moment when Frank said her name, welcomed her back to the team perfunctorily, and wrapped up his announcements. She couldn't move from her post at the back of the room, leaning up against the tables lining the back wall. People nodded at her on their way out, the way strangers acknowledge the family of the deceased at a wake. She felt like she should be standing next to a coffin, shaking hands with each one and assuring them that this 'dead person' was in a better place. Except that whole scenario was in her head.

Reality was that they were saying sorry to her, _for_ her. Like she was the one that died. It wasn't your typical, 'I hope you're okay.' pat on the shoulder, or furrowed brow. It was the 'I'm sorry your career is dead. I'm sorry you won't recover from this.'

It was sort of burning into her conscious, making her believe it. She smiled anyway, nodded back, and kept her lips pressed together, because smiling normally would look weird.

Now that the room was empty, in similar fashion to her heart, Andy finally caught sight of the investigation boards pushed to the side of the room, like they'd been abandoned. She felt eyes on her, but it was a different kind of stare, and she knew before she turned to look that it was Sam waiting at the door.

He had a smile on her face before he registered the paleness of her own. His smile dropped, replaced immediately with Sam's signature concern; thick eyebrows slanted up and pinched together above his nose, his lips parted, his eyes intense and solid and wide.

"What's wrong?"

Andy didn't talk, she just walked slowly up to the front of the room where the boards full of pictures stood. One in front of the other, as if everything had been forgotten.

She pushed the first one aside and a cool shudder ran through her. It prickled up her spine like a cold fingernail.

Her picture, bright and shiny, was tacked to the second board, next to a map, and pictures of her apartment after she was taken.

It was strange. When she'd gone back to her apartment, everything was in order, like what had happened had been erased. Now, she looked at the carnage in the pictures. The simple disarray of the sofas and the little spots of blood on the floor was a like a dainty little horror show. It was the lack of chaos that made everything _seem_ more chaotic.

Then she looked back at her own picture; the one of her smiling, with big white teeth and squinted eyes.

It was a victim picture. It was every picture she'd ever gotten from a grieving mother, or frantic father; it was a school photograph of a missing child, the blurry exposed picture of a lost wife.

It was so surreal and awful that it made her stomach churn. Her hands shook as she reached out for it, pulled it down from the board and held it in both her hands.

The only thing that kept her from tearing it into pieces was Sam, suddenly at her side with his warm palm on the small of her back.

It spoke to her. It said 'you're here, you're okay'.

She breathed and placed it back up so she could pretend she hadn't touched it, hadn't seen it at all.

* * *

Being her first shift back, Andy was assigned to light duties. Which meant desk duty. She was stuck in booking with Collins as her babysitter.

It wasn't unusual to be partnered with somebody back here, but Andy couldn't help but think they made sure she was assigned with someone.

Nick knew horror, probably even worse than what Andy had been through herself. He had stories about war, and death, and sadness. The difference was that Nick seemed to be able to separate it from the rest of his life. He was happy and perky like any other brand new rookie, but he'd served in Afghanistan, seen his friends die and witnessed things nobody should have to.

He was Nick first, a cop; second, and a soldier; third.

"The worst thing about something terrible happening to you," he said suddenly, pausing at the end to wait for her attention.

Andy stopped clicking the mouse on the computer but didn't look at him.

"Isn't any way that you've changed. It's that people don't know how to act around you. _They_ change. So don't let that change _you_."

Andy's mouth quirked slightly into a smile, then allowed her eyes to land on Collins.

"You make it sound so easy." she murmured.

Nick shrugged as he took a deep swig of his coffee. His eyes crinkled, his adam's apple bobbed, and he sighed.

"I may make it look easy, but you and I both know you're in for an uphill battle."

"Thanks for the pep talk." Sarcasm dripped off her words.

"There's no point in denying it. You've got a long road ahead of you."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "You got any more distance metaphors up your sleeve? It's a long road, it's an uphill battle." She shook her head.

Nick grinned at her disdain.

"Not thinking about that part is sort of helping me get through the day." She confessed.

Nick nodded in agreement.

"Maybe that's the best thing you can do at the moment. Just get through today, and when tomorrow comes, get through that."

Andy pondered this for a moment.

"What helped you get through coming back?"

Nick was silent and she was afraid she'd overstepped an invisible line. It happens. Sometimes people can talk about the most horrific occurrences in their lives without blinking an eye, but you mention something seemingly mundane, and it triggers some sort of frenzied overreaction.

When she glanced at him cautiously, he was just smiling.

"Gail." His smile got wider and he shook as head, as if he couldn't believe his own answer. "It's not just support. It's being able to look forward to the good stuff."

Over Nick's shoulder, Andy noticed Oliver and Sam at the door. She buzzed them in as they wrestled a drunk driver between them. Sam shoved him and forward, then halted him with a firm grasp on his shoulder. Oliver approached the counter, dropping a cell phone, a set of keys and a wallet in one of the plastic trays used for personal effects.

"Bad start to the day, huh? DUI already?" Andy leaned over the counter to tease Oliver.

The door clattered as Sam drew it closed, the drunk man shuffling around, disoriented.

Oliver groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Son of a bitch could have started drinking before midday _at home_," he glared pointedly at the guy swaying on his feet behind him. "Like everybody else." He sighed then turned back to the counter to drop his face in his hand. "Instead we found him shouting at a parking meter near Garrison Park."

"Like I said. Bad start to the day."

"Oh it hasn't been that bad." Sam piped up suddenly, subtly, nonchalantly.

Andy tried to ignore the little flutters inside her that got stronger the closer he was. Sidling up to Oliver, Sam looked like he was trying hard not to look at her either. That is, until he met her eyes with an intense gaze that wouldn't break until Andy looked away, clearing her throat.

She looked back in time to catch the smug, delirious little smile playing on his lips.

Nick was fiddling around with paper work. Oliver was smiling to himself, too. About what, Andy was completely oblivious. All she could really register is the burning, the warm smooth flush of excitement that prickled under her skin when she could feel Sam's eyes on her.

She could pinpoint the same feeling to a few other times in her life.

The small smile Sam gave her when he helped her out of the burnt out Laundromat.

The fierce curl of his lip when he thrust a fire extinguisher against a locked door to get to her when Daniel Baird bit her.

His arms, strong and angry, when he pulled their escaped prisoner off her in the middle of the woods.

The look of disbelief in his dark eyes as she tackled him to the ground on her first day as a cop.

* * *

"You did it," she whispered, then glanced around her nervously.

"You're a cop." She focused back on the mirror hanging from her locker door. "You made it through your first day. You kicked ass." She nodded.

"Not you, too."

Andy's body jolted violently in surprise.

"God damn it, Gail." She muttered, her heart hammering, her head light with embarrassment.

She dropped her hands to her sides with a long breath out. Gail snickered and sat down on the bench behind Andy.

"Dov used to do the whole DeNiro thing when he was on probation." She chuckled. "It's not a good look, believe me. Doesn't make your colleagues really believe you're sane enough to be back."

Andy didn't speak; she unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirt and tried to quell the awkward cringe-y feeling in her stomach.

She heard Gail half sigh- half groan; like she was about to say something she didn't want to.

"You're doing great, Andy."

She turned around to meet Gail's eyes. They were piercing, bold, bright and honest. Gail leaned on her hands, flat against the bench at her sides. She looked up at Andy without callous, without sarcasm, and without condescension. Gail looked at Andy like an equal. The whole day, that's all Andy wanted, all that she didn't realise she was searching for.

The best thing about Gail? She didn't make a big deal. It was like what she told Andy was obvious and inconsequential. That the fact that Andy was doing fine wasn't surprising; it was a given. Her eyebrows extended upward, waiting for Andy to respond.

"Thanks," she muttered, her voice weak as she turned away from Gail's gaze.

"Don't sweat it, Andy." she heard the blond officer stand up from the bench and stride to her own locker. "Fake it til you make it."

Andy couldn't help but let her mouth quirk at the catch phrase she spouted every day for her first year on the job. It sounded shallow and cliché, but it worked. She pulled her shirt off her shoulders then proceeded with her belt buckle and everything that came after.

Gail was still going, Traci had entered and began changing when Andy was ready to leave. She bid them adieu with a two-fingered salute from her forehead.

They copied before she turned away to catch a ride to The Penny.

Sam was nowhere to be found, and she thought she knew the reason why. Whatever happened between them in the locker room that morning was wigging him out. The only solution Sam knew to a difficult situation was silence and avoidance.

She was about to leave alone, trotting out the door with her head down to the wind.

A black clad figure interrupted her path.

"Hey," she murmured.

"Hey." He smiled back.

She let her eyes drop to the watery concrete when she spoke her next words.

"Sam, I—"

"You wanna come back to mine?"

She forgot the words that were poised on the tip of her tongue. They fell into the cold air without being heard.

Her heart thumped erratically. It was the first time they met, the first time they touched all over again. Whatever happened now couldn't be controlled.

"Sure, yeah, whatever." She shrugged, her words coming out rushed and manic.

Sam just smiled, held out his arm and waited for her to walk into it. His hand fell to touch the small of her back. Her eyes closed, just for a second, savouring the heat that radiated from his palm, through her clothes and into her skin, into her core.

She winced at the pull of pain in her ribs as she stepped up into the cabin of Sam's truck. She smiled at him, knowing his frown was a sign that he noticed her discomfort.

A million scenarios began racing through her mind as the street got shorter, the time ran along too quickly, and they were already idling on the curb outside Sam's apartment.

The engine quietened and all there was between them was air and no words. Sam's door opened. Andy quickly opened hers before he could do it for her, making the situation more awkward and nerve wracking than it already was. She stepped out onto the icy pavement, slamming the silver door behind her. Sam motioned with his head for her to follow. It was easy, and soft, and non-confrontational. But that didn't stop the delicate panting coming from Andy, the thundering pulse, or the clenching stomach.

She felt like she should be wiping her forehead of sweat, pulling her shirt away from her neck at the collar; like a cartoon character.

Her heart hurt in such a good way.

She waited at his front door, on the stoop where she'd almost made the same leap two years ago during the blackout. Sam fiddled with the door key, cursing quietly at the stubborn thing jamming. Nothing was perfect, and like a story-book. It was real life, and broken up into quiet moments of disagreeing with the door, and removing coats, and finding the light switch.

It didn't follow one smooth motion. It wasn't following any of the scenarios developed inside Andy's brain. It was imperfect, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

She dropped her scarf on top of her coat, puddled in the corner by the door with her boots.

Sam dropped his jacket next to it, looked at her with furrowed brows and asked, "You want a drink?"

She took a step toward him, leaving not even a breath of space between them.

His eyes flitted between her eyes and her lips for a moment.

"No." she shook her head. "I don't want a drink."

Her arms stretched, reached around his neck and pulled him towards her in one move.

That's when the magic started and didn't stop. This is what she fought for, when she was cold, and crying, and scared of dying in that slaughter house.

"Andy," he whispered, before she gripped his sides and pulled him close.

Their lips touched and nothing could be controlled.

His hands came up to her face, cupping both sides. Their tongues appeared together, and the burn travelled south and pulsed uncontrollably, insatiably.

Their ministrations started out slowly; touching, testing, tasting. Until she let her fingers glide down his sides, to which he shivered in response. Sam Swarek? Shuddering at the graze of little finger tips?

They reached the hem of his shirt, the warmth of his skin beneath, and pulled up.

His hands left her, only for a moment, to pull his shirt off. She stopped at his shoulders, her ribs hurting too much to help any further. He dropped it at his side before immediately running his hands down her stomach, his fingertips hooking under her own clothes. He didn't pull the tank top off straight away; he let his fingers glide on the soft skin underneath, let her skin prickle at his touch as he made lines of heat up her bare back.

She could feel him being extra careful around her midsection, delicate and caring. He didn't want to hurt her, and he was being so gentle.

"We don't have to do this right now," he assured her.

She brought her good arm down to the hem of her top, and pulled her left arm out. Sam helped with the other side.

He bent at the knees, running his hands down the backs of her thighs, lifting her up into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his hips and they were moving. She didn't know where; her lips moving softly up and down his neck before she felt him lowering her down onto his bed.

His hands crawled up the bed on either side of her. She lifted her hips as his fingers came to the button and zipper on her jeans. He buried his fingers inside the hem, pulling them down her thighs. She breathed unevenly, excitedly.

He stopped for a second, as if just realising what he had in front of him; his eyes absorbed the sight, then met her own.

She waited, and she wasn't afraid.

Andy bit her lip as he stood back, undoing his belt buckle, his jeans dropping to his feet. The light was filtering in from the hallway, dimly lighting their skin and making it glow.

He crawled over her, leaning in to kiss her again.

He leant back, kneeling, as she sat up. He reached behind her, unhooking her bra, his nose sinking into her hair, his palms cupping her breasts.

His breath came out unevenly. She leaned back and pushed the elastic of his boxers down from his hips. His knee came up to pull his leg out, then the other. Her hips rose to him, and he peeled the last item of clothing from her body, the last thing that could have stopped this, the real point of no return.

Now she could feel his skin against hers, heated and wanting. Her breath was short, her heart still racing. This was the pinnacle, the paramount. There would be no other moment like this. This was the first, and there would be no other. But she'd already decided she wouldn't stop after just one taste. She knew this craving could last forever.

His hand gripped her hip, on the right side. The other reached between them, and her head fell back against the pillow, eyes wide to the sensation.

His mouth found hers again. Her hand found him.

He groaned, breaking from the kiss and nuzzling her neck. He broke away fully, his hand reaching out to the nightstand. Andy heard the crumple of ripped plastic. A condom. He leaned down again, the heat was electric.

She helped him find her. Slick, her body stretched to accommodate his size. They met, and they both seemed to sigh in relief.

Andy's hands smoothed down his back, cupping his ass, guiding him further inside her. Their eyes met finally; there was something so profound in the look he gave her.

It blackened, his jaw tensing, his brow slick with sweat.

His fingers wove through her hair.

He moved into her, hard and passionate. Their bodies moved without volition. He leaned down further, not breaking motion, and wrapped his arm beneath her, around her waist. Andy sucked in a breath as he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She laid over him now, her nipples puckered and pressing against his chest. He breathed heavily, uncomfortable with the lack of movement when she paused, and brushed her hair behind her ear.

Her hips rocked back and forth on their own, her blood sizzling at the sounds that escaped his mouth.

Andy's hands rested against his chest, while Sam's hands gripped her hips tightly.

It wasn't long before he sat up, meeting her in the middle, and holding her close to him. His mouth moved across her chest, taking her nipple inside his mouth as she continued to rock. The coil of pleasure inside her began to compress. It built up.

His hand dove between them, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her clit.

"Sam," she breathed. "Oh my god."

He groaned, his eyes closing momentarily then focussing on her as her body tightened.

Andy went rigid with her orgasm, their bodies rubbing slickly together when their rhythm suddenly broke. She moaned, her head falling onto Sam's shoulder.

His lips grazed up and down her neck as she shuddered in the aftermath. He held her tightly, but gently. He rolled her onto her back again, careful not to jostle her too harshly. His hips continued to meet hers, before each pump got closer to the next. His rhythm broke, too, and Andy clutched at his shoulders as he buried himself deeply, losing himself too.

He let himself collapse onto the bed by her side.

Their eyes met again, their chests heaving in exertion.

Sam's hand moved to her neck. Andy lay on her back, her head turned to the right to face him. He caught a lock of hair and let it play between his fingers. His eyes, still intense on hers, blazed with a new found shade of possession.

"We can never go back." He murmured, swallowing.

Andy felt his hand move to brush her cheek. She caught it in her hand, and kissed his palm.

"I don't want to go back."


	17. Squares of Shiny Paper

A/N Hey, readers! Another late update, but I'm trying hard to write more often. Even if you don't see it, I'm trying to write a little bit each night. Here's my next disaster. Hope you enjoy! Anybody psyched for the RB finale? I AM. REVIEWS ARE LOVE. xo

* * *

Sam's heart wouldn't stop racing. It thumped, and it thundered, the beat loud and staccato in his ears.

He'd never been more tense or more relaxed. His mind contradicted his body; however, there _were _parts that were in total agreement with his brain. He ran his fingertips in a line up the curve of Andy's spine and let his eyes fall closed.

He wanted to absorb this moment as much as possible, but also couldn't help but revel in it. The sun snuck through a gap in the curtain, painting a golden line across Andy's bare shoulders. She slept on her stomach, her head turned away from him. He was loathe to move in case the moment stirred like silt in water; becoming murky and vague. The lines of her body were so perfect and uninterrupted.

Her hair, glossy and fragrant, fell over her right shoulder to fan out over the pillow. Her fingers were curled in on themselves tightly, her arm bent at the elbow and tucked up beneath her chest.

He wanted to roll her over, to glimpse everything of her again, the plump fullness of her breasts, the elegant curve of her neck flowing onto her jaw, the freckle just above her belly button…her lips…

His fingers travelled selfishly, hungrily, down the column of her spine, to the two slanted dimples above her ass. Boldly, he let his palm flatten over her gluteus, his fingers dipping in the line where the cheek met the back of the thigh.

Andy's top half stirred.

Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch and her body quivered, her breathing disrupted.

"That tickles." Her voice was muffled into the pillow.

Sam smiled to himself, continuing his ministrations. He had himself propped up on his elbow, his body stretched out head-to-feet with Andy's. He tucked his feet under his own pillow, the sheets awkwardly positioned just so to give him a little modesty in the broad daylight.

He'd never felt so comfortable, yet so self-conscious in the presence of a woman. He thought he'd grown out of the fumbling pubescent stage after high school. It was like starting over again; Andy was so different, so unbelievably unique. And he couldn't stop wanting her, not even when she was this close. Her body, her mind, called out to him. This kind of intense attraction was dangerous.

Because it wasn't just physical, and it never could be with Andy. There was no way he walked away from this unmarked.

She huffed out a breath, pushing her unruly bed hair away from her eyes. She had her face turned toward him now, watching him down the length of their parallel forms.

He watched her back, and wondered how everything had fallen into this moment.

A slow, sly smile broke across her face, like dawn breaking over the horizon; it warmed the atmosphere, prickled Sam's skin, and lit up the room.

She bit her lip, her confidence waning, leaving room for post-coital bashfulness. He'd seen and touched every part of her, and without a doubt, could not fathom what she was being so shy about. Maybe it was the reason as he. This was new; they used to be colleagues, then friends, then two people whose sexual tension was an entity in and of itself. Things would never be the same; it frightened and exhilarated him.

"I never took you for a shy person," he grinned, as Andy tugged the sheets up to her neck.

"I'm not." She disagreed, eyes widening for a moment.

She seemed to look down at herself, then bite her lip again.

"It's just…it's _you, _you know?"

Guarded, Sam frowned confusedly.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_," Andy shuffled up the bed into a sitting position and Sam wished she'd just let the covers drop.

"I mean that I've spent the last three years under you,"

Sam smirked.

"Professionally." Andy added quickly. "Trying to impress you, trying to be good at my job, and now we're here, it's hard to break from the teacher-student mind set. It's hard to be vulnerable in front of you like this because it feels so real."

Sam stayed silent, pondering.

"This is real." Andy continued. "And I know we just slept together, so there's _that._ But, like, you know what I mean?"

She was rambling.

"Andy, Andy," he interrupted her. "This isn't about work. This isn't about impressing me, which, believe me, you needn't try hard. This is just you and me; two people. I—"

_Whoah._ Something jumped and scrambled inside him. His tongue was about to curl over the next word but stopped itself, dropping from the roof of his mouth before the first syllable formed. Knee-jerk reaction.

"I—" he stammered, then shrugged, looking away. "I don't want you to worry about that."

Andy watched him closely, and his throat tightened at the thought of her questioning his hesitation.

He couldn't say it, couldn't even think it. The word was taboo. There was a line that couldn't be crossed, not yet. He'd never said it to anyone, never felt it. His attention got swallowed by her eyes, not quite black, not quite brown, a hazy warm chocolate, reflecting gold in the sunlight. They narrowed; her lashes rose from the bottom and lowered from the top, caging her focus.

He looked away before Andy could discern his thoughts from his expression. It was ridiculous, of course, she couldn't know what he was thinking. But her stare could be so intense and present, that he almost felt like he couldn't keep anything a secret. Not from her, anyway. His life revolved around fear; fear of failing, fear of losing somebody he cares about, fear of losing himself.

He was losing himself already; to Andy McNally.

* * *

He'd confronted the first two fears already. The span of time that Andy had been missing was but a blip in the grand stretch of a normal lifetime, but it made an unbelievable dent in Sam's. It was horror.

It didn't just last for those few hours she was gone, or the few weeks of recovery she went through. It wouldn't just be however long it took to find her attacker. It wouldn't simply last as long as it took for her to not be afraid anymore. The horror would last as long as she lived. It was permanent; for both of them.

Sam didn't know when the point of change was; the point of change being the moment he went from being concerned friend, to being scarred by anything bad that happened to her. When was that decided? That Sam couldn't imagine not caring for Andy, not wanting to kill whoever ventured to harm her.

He took a seat at the small round dining table he had that sat at the edge of the kitchen. He watched Andy pad out from the bedroom, clad in one of his t-shirts. When she reached up to the overhead cabinets, the shirt slid up to reveal the underside of her bottom. The green fabric glided over her tan skin, bringing out the golden glow.

She dropped the box of cereal to the counter, and twisted to the fridge to pull it open. Jars clanged against each other, the seal around the door made a sticking sound as it peeled away.

She produced the milk, then went searching for a bowl.

"Do you have anything besides bran flakes?" she asked with a frown, opening the last cabinet to find the little amount of crockery that Sam owned.

He had his cheek leaning into his hand as he watched her, trying not to let his mouth gape.

"Uh," he blinked. "No."

She snorted and shook her head, smiling.

"What?" he smiled back.

"That's so you. Nobody under sixty-five has bran flakes. Live it up a little, Sam. Try some Coco Pops, or Fruit Loops."

"Nobody over ten eats Fruit Loops, McNally." He quipped in return, his eyes following her as she brought her breakfast to the table.

"I would have made you something," he offered.

"No, it's fine." She shrugged, rounding the table.

She paused then, placing her bowl down at the chair next to Sam. Without warning, she came closer. His hands reached out automatically, flattening his palms on each hip. He bent forward slightly, closed his eyes and pressed his face gently against her stomach. He felt her fingers run through his hair to the nape of his neck. He shivered against the warmth of her skin, the feel of her hands.

She was heat and honey; he circled his arms around her waist as she leant into him. She shifted and he slackened his hold, raising his head.

She bit her lip coyly and leaned over him to grip the back of the chair. His pulse quickened uncontrollably as she lowered herself onto his lap. He was already losing his focus, already succumbing, already bewitched by her.

Her hands smoothed over his shoulders, stopping on the sides of his neck.

Her pupils dilated, and their shared stare grounded him. He gripped her hips again and she dipped her head to kiss him. She was always so warm now, when he touched her. His fingers grazed up her thighs to her backside, creeping up under the shirt. He liked that she wore it; her scent smothered it.

The worn cotton was soft against his fingers as he pulled it off. Her breath caught slightly as she lifted her arm, the garment discarded on the floor. He cupped her side with his hand as if he could heal it; her ribs, the damage.

She lifted his head to bring him back, to rescue him from the guilt. He would sink, drown, and she would pull him back from the fray with a look, a touch, a tug on his heart.

"Hey," she whispered, their lips just a breath away.

His eyes ran up her face to meet her own. She kissed him again, and he held his eyes open for a moment longer as their lips parted to meet.

He felt her lift herself from his lap and free him from his shorts. He tensed as she touched him and caught her grinning.

Sam couldn't be selfish with her, wouldn't dare. It was difficult, though, staving off his desire when she was right there, bare before him, so close, so close.

"Andy," he always said her name so reverently.

It was one of the rare times he used her first name.

She smiled against his mouth, then gasped at his fingers between her legs.

He buried his face into her neck, breathing hard, his body rigid with concentration. Her fingers dug into his shoulders suddenly and he kissed her jaw.

He gripped her hips and lifted her slightly and they came together; their bodies tensing then relaxing, then tensing again in a breathtaking swing of passion.

The sun hitting the windows gave the cloaked room a tepid atmosphere, sweat budding across their brows, down their chests, despite the chill outside.

Her breath caught again, and he knew she was coming undone, shaking with her release. He groaned, letting himself go. Her arms tightened around him, he lowered his face to her chest, placing strained kisses between her breasts.

He shuddered beneath her, clutching her tightly as the madness swirled around them, settling.

"Sam," she breathed shakily, her eyes fluttering closed.

He watched her come down from the high, watched little goose bumps rise across her flesh.

They came back to reality together; they had to be at work soon. Andy stood up with a grimace, the oversized shirt she wore fell to her thighs.

"I'm gonna go have a shower." She eyed her untouched breakfast and shook her head with a smile, disappearing into the bedroom. The bathroom adjoined it.

Sam didn't move.

* * *

If Sam thought being around Andy _before_ they slept together was tense, he had no idea how difficult it would be now that he'd been with her.

Especially when he caught her glance at him, the way she would bite her lip, or how a very small secret smile perked the corner of her mouth as she gazed into her coffee cup.

He never knew how hard it would be to act like colleagues, not that he ever really felt that way about her. He never knew how hard it would be to restrain himself from pushing her up against the wall in the parade room and having his dirty way. He was a mess, but he was delirious.

There was also the elephant in the room. He told himself that things were fine, and that they would be, but he couldn't help but worry, couldn't help but keep an eye on Andy. Her attacker was still at large, the case had hit a road block after DeLuca was found innocent, and The Rouge Brothers hadn't been found.

He didn't know what to believe, whether it was one of the brothers, or somebody else entirely. There was one thing he was sure of; he wouldn't be able to live with himself if Andy got hurt again.

Andy was his…was _his._

And he was hers, equally, if not more so.

* * *

Andy was walking on eggshells. On one hand, her happiness was almost uncontainable; her fear on the other hand, seemed to stamp down any good feeling into just a whisper.

She walked head-high into the parade room. Half-empty. Everybody was sort of sluggish this morning, standing around and chatting while Frank was still in his office.

People still milled outside. A line filed through the break room, the smell of cheap, burnt coffee wafted into the hall, carried by numerous half-filled cups making their way to a seat up the back. Andy took her usual perch at the second row. Traci came in, fingering a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her other hand flattened against her stomach.

Groaning, she pulled the chair out beside Andy and breathed out as she sat down.

"Nothin' I like more than the smell of porcelain in the morning." She muttered, letting her head fall in her hands.

"Morning sickness?" Andy whispered, nudging her friend with her elbow and a sly smile.

Traci made an unintelligible grunt.

"That bad, huh?"

Traci turned her head on her hands to look sidelong at her. She had bags under her eyes.

"You'd think that I would expect the worse, seeing as how I've _done_ it before." She rolled her eyes.

The background chatter died down; attention perked toward the front of the room following Frank's arrival.

"Maybe Jerry's got mutant seed," Andy snorted quietly into Traci's ear.

"_McNally._" Frank's voice was raised as he stared at her pointedly.

Her smirk dropped into an embarrassed grimace. Traci glanced at her with a similar expression, and they both resigned their attention back to their staff sergeant.

Frank didn't look amused today.

"Alright, people. It's audit time; numbers came in and we're low on last month's stats."

Ah, so that was why he looked cranky.

"Shaw and Detective Barber are heading a tact team for a drug op. Diaz, Peck, and Nash will assist. Small time possession charges, that's all we want, folks. Do me a favour and keep it clean." He said with a frown, slapping his hand on the podium before nodding once to dismiss the officers.

Andy grit her teeth against the complaint that was rearing out of her mouth. She was chomping at the bit to be out in the field. She knew it hadn't been long enough to arc up about it, but she was getting more eager every day; just to prove she wasn't damaged goods, a broken officer, a desk jockey.

Everybody began standing, the door crowded with shuffling bodies.

"McNally, I want to see you in my office right away." Andy opened her mouth to reply, but Frank was already disappearing out the side entrance and into the pit.

She glanced back at everyone leaving and caught Sam's furrowed brow through the sea of uniforms.

"_What's going on?_" he mouthed, shaking his head.

Andy shrugged and shook her head in response.

This better not be because he caught her talking in the middle of parade. Frank was a good staff sergeant, but had a propensity for being a hard ass over the small things.

_Don't sweat the details_, repeated inside her head. Then she realised that it sounded like something Sam would say. _Don't sweat the details, McNally. You think too much._

She shook her arms out, took the steps two at a time, and strode up confidently to Frank's office. He wasn't behind his desk, instead he was standing, _leaning_, against the front of it with his hands buried in his pockets. Never a good sign.

_Seriously, did he hear what I said and then take offence? Or was he really buckling down on workplace chatter? Gossip? Had I been that disrespectful? Crap! But everybody talks in the middle of parade at least once a day!_

"Sir, I'm sorry about this morning," Andy began apologising immediately.

Frank squinted his eyes at her like he had vision problems. He frowned, his nose scrunching slightly.

"Oh," his expression cleared. "That's not what this is about." He waved a dismissive hand, then sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, looking at the ground.

Andy pulled her arms up to her chest, folding them over each other. Her previous concern about getting her ass whipped dissipated, anxiety about what else it could be rang in her head, and made ugly painful twists in her gut.

"Then, what is it?" she asked quietly.

Frank levelled his gaze on her.

"I wasn't sure if I should tell you." His eyes flicked over her shoulder.

Andy didn't turn; catching Luke's profile out of the corner of her eye; blue checked shirt, and at least three days of stubble.

Frank brought his hands together, his lips together; flattening all four against it's partner. He watched her carefully for a moment.

Andy was about to scream at him for being so mysterious when he took a step to the side, revealing what he'd been hiding on his desk.

An evidence bag.

"We found them when we were scouring the warehouse."

A shiver ran up her spine; her skin flushed then chilled. She looked at the bag, as if it would either start talking or jump out at her.

When she made no move to pick it up and inspect the contents, Frank glanced at Luke, then picked it up himself, holding it out for Andy. She watched his arm extend, the offending rectangle of plastic winking at her, chanting, whispering.

She blinked, focussing on the photographs through the filmy bag.

Her throat went dry and she dropped the bag on the table as if it had singed her fingers.

"I—" she didn't know how to respond.

"Did you get any prints off them?"

Frank shook his head out of the corner of her eye as she stared at the desk.

"Andy, the pictures we found; the date back to before you were taken." Luke piped up.

"Obviously," she snapped.

Frank cleared his throat but didn't speak, casting his eyes to the floor like she had, effectively isolating him from the conversation.

"Andy—" Luke started, and made the mistake of placing his hand on her shoulder.

The sudden contact shoved her fight or flight response into overdrive. Her entire body jolted, on the defence. Her mind was so entrenched with what happened to her, her abduction, her attacker, her mind believed she was experiencing it again. The fading bruises on her face and neck and body glowed with the memory.

Her breaths came in short bursts; she could almost feel _his_ hands closing around her throat. Lights burst in her vision, and she felt her body weakening with the sudden burst of adrenaline drying up.

She looked at Luke, his hand cupping his jaw, eyes sparking.

She looked down at her own hand, half-raised, palm tingling.

She'd slapped him, and didn't even realise it. Her hand fell to her side, anxiety pooling in the pit of her stomach. She'd lost complete control for those three seconds, her body and brain disconnected from reality and she'd lashed out, struck Luke, and hadn't even remembered doing it.

Her head spun and she fled the room.

She didn't want the pictures to exist.

_They're just pictures._ She told herself, striding to the locker room with her head down, her chin almost touching her chest.

_They're just squares of shiny paper, _she chanted.

She rounded the corner, the room cloaked in darkness, safety, invisibility.

Her knees gave way, sinking into the floor just inside the room. She was wheezing quietly, covering her mouth to obscure her whimpering.

Like she'd been shot with a paralytic, she dragged her limp body further into the room, to the first row of lockers. She planted her boots flat on the floor, leaning up against the blue metal doors, bringing her knees to her chest.

Her arms circled them, squeezing them closer.

The world seemed to fade in and out, reality was blinding and cruel and cold. Andy pressed her palms together to stop them from shaking, inspecting them as if she could find the cause of her ailment.

_There are no pictures, there are no pictures, there are no pictures._

Her face was hot and wet with tears.

_What's happening?! What's wrong with me?!_

She tried voicing the questions to the room, as if somebody could answer. But her voice held no volume.

_Am I dying?!_

Nothing matched the horror she felt right then and there, her heart thumping erratically, hard enough to beat out of her chest, hands clamped together, nails digging into skin.

Feet anchored to the floor, she didn't dare move for fear she would float away.

_Heart attack? Stroke?_

Whatever it was, she hoped it would either stop immediately, or just kill her; the suffering was bad enough, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see a way out.

* * *

Sam saw her running out of Frank's office on his way out with Epstein. His attention perked immediately, his protectiveness flared.

"Andy?" he called as she flashed past him, ignoring him.

He left her for a moment, ordered Epstein to help out Collins at the front desk while he soldiered up to see what all the commotion was about.

He came in, and Luke groaned, slumping down in a chair.

Sam didn't know if it was in response to his appearance or just coincidental. He didn't really care.

"What's going on with McNally?"

Frank was sitting behind his desk, his hands tented beneath his chin. He pondered him for a moment before he leaned forward, pushing the evidence bag toward Sam.

He picked it up with a puzzled frown.

"What's this?" he murmured, before examining it for himself, his next words dying in his mouth.

A collection of crumpled pictures stared up at him. Andy outside her apartment, outside The Penny, and the last one; hunched over in a dark room on a rusty chair. Sam blinked, and swallowed the nausea threatening to rise up his throat.

You couldn't see her face in the last one, just the top of her head, bowed forward.

Nothing else was discernible.

He wished he hadn't seen them. He let them slip back onto the desk from his fingers, knowing the images would haunt him for as long as he lived.

"Oh." Was the only thought he could put into words.

"She's got a mean left hook, open-palm, but still…" Luke rubbed at his jaw and Sam's eyebrow rose.

"She hit you?"

Neither of them spoke, confirming his question.

"No prints, no DNA." Frank answered Sam's next questions.

"Then why did you have to put her through that?" he pressed, a little angrier.

"Don't you think she has the right?" Luke interjected.

Sam ground his teeth together, but didn't respond. He turned to leave and find Andy.

He rushed to the locker room only to run into her as she came out.

"Andy…" he caught sight of her red rimmed eyes, a ghost of a memory fading behind her eyes.

He caught her hand in one of his, felt the lack of heat, the shiver of her skin, and tried to catch her gaze.

"Maybe you should go home."

Her reaction was immediate, and strong.

"I don't want to go home, Sam." She glared. "What am I gonna do? I'm gonna think, I'm gonna go out of my mind. _So don't tell me to go home._" She uttered dangerously.

He let go of her hand, trying not to take her outburst to heart. That was the thing when it came to Andy; if she wasn't happy, he wasn't happy, and he didn't know how to change that.

She stood there for a moment in silence before walking away. He watched her back get smaller and thought to himself how his day had gone from brilliant to rocky in the matter of a few hours.

The pictures had made him feel ill; what must she be feeling? He just wanted to hold her, tell her he was there, whenever she needed him.

He wanted to tell her that he needed her, too.

Because he lived it; he found her empty scattered apartment, the small but foreboding drops of blood. He saw the warehouse, he found her, heard her screams, cradled her limp bruised body. He had prayed to a God he didn't believe in to bargain for Andy's life.

It happened to him, too. But he couldn't let her know it frightened him, the prospect of remembering, of talking about it, of accepting it as reality. In Sam's reality, Andy was here now, and that was all that mattered.

Sometimes it just felt like their connection might break; from circumstance, a mis-communication, space, divine intervention. He didn't believe in God. He believed in the power of the universe. He blinked, and Andy was gone.

He believed the universe could be a cruel son of a bitch.


End file.
